Lucky enough to travel both forward in time to the release of the second volume as well as backward into the fall of last year to the release of the first volume, I sit battered having read both. Eyes now in a thousand slices. Wilson has put the mark on me and now my brain throbs in the exact pattern of an ancient curse.
I had thought my brain pliable, having been twisted, stretched and left dangling by language these long years on Earth. I have found, time and time again, the gold dragonfly at the center of every burnt husk of corn littering the impact crater of the diamond-hard word virus ark pod. Battle without Honor or Humanity should be shoehorned into every bubbling mind in the land (and disseminated to the Outlands as soon as the virus takes hold there as well.)