Science Fiction
Finished The Secret Life of Puppets and I’m still mildly amused by how a book about criticism and culture can end up feeling so interested in the supernatural.
Not in a gimmicky way, either. More like it keeps noticing where modern, sensible explanations leave a gap, and refuses to pretend that gap isn’t there. I like that. Too many books act as if wonder is a bit embarrassing, when it’s often the most honest thing in the room.
Also, rare pleasure: a critical book that doesn’t treat mystery like a mistake to be corrected.
Not in a gimmicky way, either. More like it keeps noticing where modern, sensible explanations leave a gap, and refuses to pretend that gap isn’t there. I like that. Too many books act as if wonder is a bit embarrassing, when it’s often the most honest thing in the room.
Also, rare pleasure: a critical book that doesn’t treat mystery like a mistake to be corrected.
I’m about halfway through and that’s been the interesting part for me. It doesn’t feel like a book trying to prove the supernatural is “real” so much as one that notices how often criticism itself gets nervous around anything uncanny.
That makes it more useful than a lot of theory books, honestly. The minute a book starts pretending mystery is bad scholarship, I lose patience.
That makes it more useful than a lot of theory books, honestly. The minute a book starts pretending mystery is bad scholarship, I lose patience.
What struck me is how a book like this can sit in criticism and still feel oddly literary in the best sense. Not because it prettifies its subject, but because it seems willing to let uncertainty stay unresolved. That’s usually where the interesting reading is. If everything gets flattened into explanation, the air goes out of it.