It’s rare that a book is easy to read, but also well worth reading. Usually it takes a Pynchon or a Barthelme to really suck me into the text, where the complexity of the ideas necessitates the complexity of the language. As much as I love those guys, I love nothing more than when a writer manages to say just as much in simpler prose, where with a subtlety of phrase and a poet’s touch they pull meaning from less.That’s what Jesse Ball does in Samedi the Deafness. It is an absurdist thriller, if such a combination is possible. James Sim, the overly-innocent protagonist, is sucked into a global terror plot. A ridiculously convoluted global terror plot, perpetrated by the psychiatrist proprietor of an asylum for chronic liars. No, really. Most of the novel takes place at the asylum, and bounces around through lies and half-truths and flashbacks as poor James tries to figure out just exactly what’s going on.

That’s where the term “thriller” runs out. This isn’t a high-octane bestseller. It’s a dreamy, surreal jaunt through a world I wish existed because the characters are that much more interesting than real people. James’ love interest, who goes by a number of different names throughout the book, is the kind of perfectly f***ed up girl I want to meet and marry myself one day (is that a line from an Everclear song, “Perfect in a f***ed up way?”). I don’t recall the last time I was this satisfied with the thought processes of a writer. The story kept going, and through every turn I loved where I was going. Highly recommended.