While reading this 1200-page monster, I felt compelled to write a review. This story is unlike anything I’ve ever read. If you’ve read a Danielewski before, you know he is first and foremost an artist - an eccentric one at that - but also a masterful storyteller. We follow three groups: Kalin, his ghost friend Tom, and the horses; Kalin’s and Tom’s mother; and the Porches. Kalin and his companions carry the adventurous thread of the story - riding through the mountains, trying to save the horses stolen from the Porches from slaughter. The Porches weave a web of conflict and intrigue. The resulting web of lies, spun chiefly by the Porch patriarch, accuses Kalin of murder - though Kalin, up in the mountains in late October, is largely oblivious to the chaos unfolding below. All these plot lines are meticulously detailed. Remarkably, about 1000 pages cover just five days, with the narrative stretching time deliberately to carefully reveal each character’s motives and the external obstacles in their way. Patience is required, yet the rewards are immense. Danielewski works wonders in portraying the astonishingly complex dynamics of his characters, particularly the dysfunctional Porch family: „And likely because Russel, in finally havin felt the bright and warmin light of paternal affection, especially when faced now with its fadin, like a gambler addicted to the next revelation of worth or an addict hooked clear through by the promissory note of just another taste, Russel had to do whatever might incline his father to once again look his way with pride and maybe this time even with wonder.“ The story gets under your skin. The narrator selects moments with precision, dissecting them while revealing the hearts, pasts, and sometimes futures of the characters. Occasionally, he explains at length why events unfolded exactly as they did, which can be (and was for me) a bit exhausting at times. Also, as you‘ve already seen, the narrator has an accent, which while initially striking, gradually recedes into the background. Nevertheless, the characters became astonishingly real to me, as though I might encounter them on a walk through Utah’s mountains. The book feels almost like a documentary, yet simultaneously like a dark, haunting fairy tale. If you read and enjoyed House of Leaves, you will likely enjoy this as well. It’s as if all the narrators were combined: without the endless question marks, yet carrying Zampanò’s academic scrutiny and Johnny’s flowing, almost living wordplay. There are elements of myth, ghosts, and narrator play, but this story is told with such thoroughness that the reader is rarely left wondering, unlike in HoL. Once the journey is over, it’s hard not to return every so often. Here are some more quotes: „But xxx didn‘t come through okay. And if you’re the kind who might get squeamish or, worse, soul-hurt about a moment that necessarily points out not just the sublime endurance of these beautiful creatures but also their frailty in such conditions, conditions in case it weren't glarinly obvious that they ain't in any way suited for, you would not be faulted for briefly divertin your attention elsewhere. Violence, when it arrives unmitigated by play, posture, or irony, will bruise in the tellin as well as the hearin, which is why we also won't linger. Though let the facts be laid out plainly.“ „Allison was now driftin around Tom‘s room, almost touchin everythin, not touching a thing, like she was happiest as a ghost, and weren‘t that a sad way to be.“ I could say more, but enough is enough.