Disturbing, enlightening, uncomfortable, hopeful, gross, meandering, sudden, intense, graphic, at times strange, almost always reminiscent of a fever dream… Galapagos is all of these words and so much more.
A life story told through a disjointed stream of consciousness, the first half of the novel flips and drops into the second, featuring a cast of characters caught up in the fragile vulnerability of deadly sickness. Each of them on a boat together, citizens aboard a voyage of the damned, each sharing the same viral curse that took so many in the formative years of what we now know as the AIDS Crisis.
This book was a gritty, dark, queer as hell journey through the mind of a man who doesn’t yet know he’s dying, or that many of his friends will soon join him in death. He only knows that his fingernails have fallen off, and that something is very wrong inside. The pus man has turned his eyes upon our narrator and his unkempt band of friends and acquaintances, and his grip will not be escaped.
I both struggled to read this story, yet couldn’t seem to tear myself away. The writing style is an almost constant steam of thought, of feeling and expression and suffering and gross pain and decomposition. It pulled me down into the depths of Lorenzo’s mind and wouldn’t let me back up for air until the very final page.
and we don’t speak anymore because it’s too difficult,
Thank you NetGalley for the ARC.