By Eric Lutz
The weirdest thing about Jesse Ball’s novels is how naturally the most unnatural things unfold in them.
An example: In the Chicago author’s second book, “The Way Through Doors,” a young man sees a stranger get hit by a cab and brings the ID-less, memory-washed woman to the hospital.
“Are you her boyfriend?” the receiving orderly asks him.
“Yes,” he replies.
And like that, the hospital and victim knowing no better, he is.
It’s the kind of organic absurdity that exists in Kafka’s world, and often in Alfred Hitchcock’s. Worlds with the same look and texture as our own but in which reality is a bit weirder, identity a bit looser and circumstance and fate gravity-like forces.
Indeed, that book, and his debut “Samedi the Deafness,” played all sorts of games with the nature of reality and identity and circumstance, and earned Ball due praise.
His new novel, “The Curfew,” may stand as the best of the three, or at least the darkest—a strange, brilliant work of speculative fiction that calls to mind Kafka’s “The Trial,” Nabokov’s “Invitation to a Beheading” and, most prominently, Bradbury’s “Fahrenheit 451.” Read the rest of this entry »



