Nobody describes profound joy or 'blazing love' with such infectious abandon as Enger, and it’s a pleasure to be back under his influence ... About 80 pages into I Cheerfully Refuse, a grisly murder shatters Rainy’s equilibrium and veers the novel into much darker territory ... This is a book whose margins strain to corral marital bliss and executions, goofy optimism and torture, natural beauty and pedophilia, bonhomie and lynching ... Does the world need a sweet apocalyptic novel? Is such a thing even possible? This doomsday in daffodils will surely exasperate some readers, but for others — myself included — it offers an alluring itinerary toward hope.
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