And I didn't. This is book #3 this year that I did not finish. And I am one to always finish a book no matter how terrible it is ("All He Ever Wanted" by Anita Shreve was so bad, I kept telling Steph the plot and describing how bad it was, which puzzled her why I kept reading it).
The main character comes across a dying man. Apparently the dying man is from a conspiracy, and the main character decided to figure out who this "Samedi" character is. He is then captured and taken to some hospital-like place and then he meets a ton of different women, all named Greves.
In college, I went to review a movie that was made by an art student. I wasted two hours watching women obsess over this skinny man who had eggs. I also remeber the movie was very disturbing, which didn't help my panic attacks at the time. My conclusion, in the end, was simply, art students + movies = WTF?
This poet wrote a novel. Now I know this equation doesn't work with all poets, because some can pass into novel-writing country with ease. This one, however, is very much, poet + novel = WTF?