by Paul Glennon
Canada, 2005
Man, I fucking hated this book. Lame, lamer, lamest approach to the interconnected short story collection-as-novel idea, the main problem not being the potentially interesting storytelling structure itself but the unvarying flat monotone "I" of the various narrators: whether they're supposed to be weird little kids or grumpy old businessmen, they all sound the same. In addition, the obsession with outlandish conspiracy theories and "clever" plot twists felt really forced to me. While Glennon claims to have constructed The Dodecahedron on "mildly Oulipian principles," something that certainly sounds appealing on paper, I'm sorry to say that I'll definitely remember it more for its unconvincing authorial voice and its dry, androidal prose than for any resemblances to Perec and Calvino. Whatever. (http://porcupinesquill.ca/)
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