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Melville’s prose is heaven, swooning.

Billy Budd slips from ode to courtroom drama to a third place, the flattening of people and their history via art and subjective carelessness. The further Melville backs away, seeking an objective view, the muddier and more tragic it becomes. Time becomes myth, then is forgotten. The most Kiarostami-coded piece of written fiction I’ve found.

Piazza is clean, melancholy.

Repairer of Reputations presents America as it always was & will be, chilling / fascinating, particularly as refractor to the King in Yellow which pales in premise against the backdrop into which it is dropped.

Mask takes a surprising turn to light but I’m picking up an incel vibe.

Court of the Dragon is fine, scarier I’m sure in Chambers head than his words.

Lacks the detail necessary to truly haunt.