It is certainly a compulsive style that is perfect for itself, and if for itself, for you, too, as Jeremy Freirs journeys towards Sarr and Deborah Poroth’s farm, in the midst of naive close-walking semi-Amish people, their “other ways of knowing”, and their “drowsy” isolated country, the Poroths naive themselves, Deborah with a hint of attractiveness beneath the serious clothes, together with the ominous fateful hints of the Troets, the Old One, the Poroth mother, and how Jeremy was destined to read the advert in New York, away from where it was pinned up, for accommodation here… That question notwithstanding, I have now progressed from being captivated to being captured by this text. “How long had it been since his citified cock had been touched by actual sunlight?”
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