![]() ![]() The plot doesn’t really sway much from here the boss’ (of the factory) idealistic son, Amlis Vess, comes down to earth to judge things, and Isserley experiences love and hate towards him personally - this event, alone, necessary but not sufficient for the setting off of a chain of events leading to the end of the story and what increasingly looks like inevitable demise.Īnd the above paragraph is not intentionally spoiling anything. ![]() ![]() The book at a superficial level is about a female alien in Scottish rurality: Isserley travels up and down A roads picking up male hitchhikers to drive back to a factory, after being made unconscious, so that they can be processed into packaged meat for consumption on an unknown alien planet. Summoned before my mind, constantly, after a put down the book are Isserley’s feelings, poignant, touching, and so so honest. However, I have been unable to stop thinking about Faber’s imagery. I feel the novel or roman is a lengthy, personal form of art not really best explicated by a review under the pretence of objective enquiry (conversation via dialectic is much better here). ![]() I don’t normally feel inclined to write up book reviews. My motivation for writing this up: the lack of reviews I could find on the internet after a short superficial search. Michel Faber’s Under the Skin: at once sublime, all-encompassing, meaningful, and being characterised by a certain nonchalant, tempered manner of description or, probably with greater accuracy, a certain sprezzaturra. ![]()
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