/lit/ - Literature

Still want to know if this 700 page self-published maximalist novel is worth reading.

https://coronasamizdat.com/2020/10/18/the-manifold-destiny-of-eddie-vegas/

Excerpt:
‘Right here,’ Jimmy Blade replied with inarrogant pride, unsheathing to reveal, held in both hands the way one offers not a gift, rather a recognition, the rustic grandeur of his singular knife. The blade itself was fresh polished, sharpened evenly from hilt to tip and back the other side to hilt. The handle was wrapped tight in crimson leather, forming a tubular grip of such apparent mass it was difficult to conceive a substance beneath, as if it were a cylinder of nought but dense, taut hide. This effected a stylish contrast with the surprise wood of the hilt and butt, which were painted in checks of black and white.

‘Get this fer a bet a five yer getting a thievy bounty. No pirate ever flunged a finer dagger.’

Rance, entranced, needed no Bladely boast, gazing rapt at the knife all the while he counted five gold pieces from the purse sack tied to his belt and handing then to Gravel, the implicit arbiter, whose own allurement was coaxed aside by prophetic vision of a con unfolding. The first throw missed, to be sure, but by mere inches, the illusion of catastrophic ineptitude created by the slice of blade into eftesque feminine paw—yes, the point a mere handspan from the frog’s belly, which would remain a relatively massive target from the, come to reflect, relatively short distance of these ten paces: the next throw would be precise, the sawed off confidence man taking away six gold pieces rather than a mere one.

And so it occurred, from the explosion of energy that projected the blade ten feet in a second, this fling flung more brisk and violent, compact, splunk and thwang, splitting the belly centrally, sticking the bullfrog to the tree, Clem and Jem instantly releasing the two legs each they’d held, fore and aft frogwise, up and down that is to say, one each side of the target, lifting their now free hands aloft as they slunk away from the display, the spectacle of a giant bullfrog pinned to a giant tree, the three others abruptly approaching, effervescence sparkling their aspect, even the soothseer Gravel disimmuned by awesome of nature and artifice convergent to glamorous effect.

Jimmy Blade tugged the knife from the guts and tree, the victim jerking in its dying physios from cling-to-steel to back-barked before yielding to gravity in league with fate of fucked frog floppery. Blade wiped the blade on his pants.

Recently found this network of authors self-publishing experimental maximalist fiction through a couple of presses (River Boat Books, corona/samizdat). Names include those like Rick Harsch, George Salis, Peter Damian Bellis who appear to be part of a mini-movement of their own to revive dense unwieldy novels. Other than their own books they've even interviewed writers like Joseph McElroy and Alexander Theroux.

Links:
https://thecollidescope.com/2021/06/01/women-and-men-by-joseph-mcelroy/
https://www.riverboatbooks.com/the-mad-patagonian
https://coronasamizdat.com/2020/10/18/the-manifold-destiny-of-eddie-vegas/
https://rickharsch.wordpress.com/2021/05/24/a-new-literary-movement-the-return-to-engagement/

Just curious if anyone else has come across them and what's the verdict on these guys? Has anyone read their stuff? Are they the genuine thing or fool's gold?