File this one in the “What did I just read?” category. One of the most atmospheric books I’ve ever encountered. Think Edgar Allen Poe. Think Algernon Blackwood (“The Willows”). This is one of those books that hypnotizes with prose. But in the end ... what was it about? Isolation? Perhaps. Solitude? Most certainly. I’ll have to read it again (it’s usually a good sign when an author gets me to do this).

Henri Bosco was a French author, nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature four times. He died in 1976. Sadly, this appears to be the only one of his novels that have been translated into English (it appeared only last year) Hopefully more will follow.