There must be a new definition for surreal. Everyday action twisted into the fantastic. The line between the surreal and the Phantasmagoric is thin. You can get Impaled upon the narrowness of this line. Mr Gremillion uses the stories of seemingly unrelated characters which he deftly sketches to paint a mythology that he owns like a singer owns a song in the perfection of its delivery. I'll call it a novel. You might call it a collection of wildly colorful stories. It doesn't matter. Like Naked Lunch it can be begun or finished on any page. This novel is intensely cinematic. It uses every variation of the quick cut and the slow-mo cross fade and stretches ideas across visions and scenes. The use of dialogue and vignette create a collage of intricate dream visions examining love and sex and mythology and tantric subconscious inner twistations all portrayed in a chilling vision of the future which is upon us now. Gremillion's language is like chunky silk that takes the mind in directions unimagined like light glancing on a bullet. Imagine Verne, Lau Tsu and Voltaire twisted in a phantom reverie.
