Reading Madeline ffitch is like reading what you hoped and imagined computer games would be like when you first discovered computer games. Expansive, endlessly imaginative, so rich with internal logic that logic itself is spun into an aesthetic triumph.
This book features construction workers swimming at a YMCA, dolphin sex, wagon wheels on the bar walls, songs that have your name in them, sentences like “And each morning, I woke like a cabbage, folded way down in the pickle jar, a rat of bone and hair, wetted down” followed up by sentences like “Never like a person someone would want to stay longer in bed with, never like a person someone else would decide to ignore the alarm for.”
There are nougaty chunks of all that story stuff that dumb-dumbs think is passé: people with well-rendered mustaches, places with well-rendered naugahyde, dialogue that crinkles like a cat’s back.
If you haven’t seen the amazing plays of The Missoula Oblongata, you might not know who Madeline ffitch is, but if you own a shirt that’s 3D in any way (sequins one of many possible answers), you’ll love this book.