“The strands of a life’s work come together in Nemonymous Night, weaving a magic carpet whose bewildering pattern extends in all directions. Mike, the hawler, citizen of Man City, a zone afflicted with dream sickness, is compelled to explore regions of the nemonymous and find the true face buried at the centre of the Earth – a face as much that of the reader as it is that of the story’s characters – perhaps even more so. Nemonymous Night is a guided tour through a sinister fantasia of the everyday and the extraordinary that will haunt the reader like their most tenacious dreams and lead them to the centre of their own unimaginable reality.
D.F. Lewis, winner of the Karl Edward Wagner Award and editor of the innovative series of anthology journals, Nemonymous, here synthesizes his life’s vision of “a unified morality among the Synchronised Shards of Random Truth & Fiction” in a work that confirms his place among the great eccentrics of English letters.”
- Hellnotes.
“‘Nemonymous Night’ is not an easy read; however—and here’s the rub—it’s entirely readable.”
- New York Journal of Books
“Even upon ending, the reader unfamiliar with DF Lewis’ work isn’t sure whether one has reached an understanding of self or the dream or made it to reality again or whether they should perhaps start over and read once more. It is a very well wrought book that many fantasy lovers will enjoy for the statement it makes by unmaking.”
- Compulsive Reader
“The only thing I can say with any certainty is that I liked the book very much and, whatever his apparel or lack thereof, the Emperor is looking especially buff today.”
- Black Static
“I keep circling round the question of how to capture the peculiar appeal of Nemonymous Night. I think readers will understand that a bizarre, associative novel of the weird whose plot wanders and recirculates like Moses in the desert can nonetheless be rendered fascinating, but I don't think that general understanding does justice to this particular instance. Part of it, perhaps, is that the recurring images are somehow resonant: angevin harvesting is utter nonsense, but something about it strikes a chord (or maybe a cord) deep within the brain. And then, underneath the strangeness there is the eternal frailty and fragility of human identity. The author (of the book, or of one of the books with the book, if the distinction is important) alludes to a recurring dream/nightmare about university that is, in its outline, identical to one I have rather often, though it has plagued me for less time than it apparently has him. A mundane thing, except that it isn't, at all. These flashes of the real, or at least the everyday, are another ingredient in the bubbling, neon-colored concoction that is Nemonymous Night.”
- The Stars at Noonday
“A work of exquisite madness.”
- Douglas Thompson.
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