A unusual collection of verbal salad loosely describing the act of eating and the experience of food. At first I was put off by the impenetrable wall of gibberish masquerading as text, but soon I was drawn in to this veiled world and began to enjoy the cadence of language.
This is not a book easily digested (pun intended). It does not read in any conventional sense and is closer to ecstatic poetry than anything else. Still there is a beauty here that is hard to define. To be sincere, I’m still not entirely certain how I feel. I think I got something out of this, but I’m still not sure what. There is something here that warrants further investigation.
My opinion is that this book will divide readers starkly. Some will be carried absent by Stein’s linguistic antics and some will loathe the assembled rubbish. I think I may be in the first camp, but there is still time.