Disturbing, violent and uncomfortable to read sometimes but with moments of beauty, tenderness and love this fragmented book reflects the fragmented life of the young narrator. Lulu escapes to 'Africa' in her fantasy games but is at last able to discover the reality. I feel I need to read her story again to discover the whole truth but suspect it may not have all been there in the first place.
He's always there in the dark, on the other side of the door to sleep. It's not the frenzy, not his hands trying to drag me from the foxhole, from the long narrow pipe; it's not the endless pursuit dream or the little girl dead in the storm-sewer nightmare. It's not got nothing to do with physical pain or with the end of the will to live. It's the taste of the fly agaric, the sound of it screaming when I picked it.