Harmonies and dissonances
This is not an easy novel to describe. It is something like the movie “BlowUp,” let us say, in that its hero thinks he spies with a camera what his naked eyes have refused to see. And it is something like the novels of RobbeGrillet in that its prose is deadpan, toneless, under a spell, looped in its own obsessions, words whispering inside the head of a madman. It is like Pynchon's “Gravity's Rainbow” in that its symbolic and allusive formulae come from science and technology rather than from literature and other art, and in that one reads through it as one might move through sets designed by a secretive and paranoid demiurge. It is like many novels written by authors from Dostoevsky to Michel Butor in that its unexpected harmonies and novel dissonances sound against the conventions of the mystery novel. It is like the recent work of Norman Mailer in its hero's attempt to sniff out and soak up the power, energy, magic or mana released by violence and fear. “We are in the grip of forces,” says Cartwright, the hero whose mind is the “lookout cartridge” of the title, "and also of their absence."
