His own brand of Dada ... If there’s a pea (or more) of genius hidden amid the walnut shells he’s shuffling across the book, it’s on us to find it ... After the ornate sprawl of the novel, he revels in the shorter form, a palpable joy on the page. Irony has never had it so good ... What are we to make of Park’s fusion of comedy and danger, his puns and wordplay and arcane theories? He’s testing our patience for excellent reasons: We’re complicit in his fiction, perpetrators at the scene of a crime, the act of reading a jumble of synapses in our brains, spinning in all directions like a spray of bullets.
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