I've read a few folks complaining in reviews of other Pibble novels that the narrative is hard to follow. And it can be. There is something very allusive/elusive about Dickinson's interior monologue style. It sometimes verges on stream of consciousness, and so a sort of shorthand is often used, as we do when we think to ourselves. Dickinson contrives to make the allusions comprehensible, but it isn't always a quick or easy process. Also the books are very much mid-twentieth-century English, and early-twenty-first-century Americans are bound to miss some things.

That aside, the books can be very, very good. This one isn't the best of them, but it is a solid effort. Dickinson had a weakness for putting Pibble into very strange situations. Some of those situations (a theme park, (as here) a cult compound) really detract and distract from Dickinson's strengths as a writer. The more institutional ones (a rare disease clinic, an elder care facility) bring out the best in him. ( )