Alice Knott is a great idea of a book that just didn't pay off. I couldn't fall into this book and that is what it would take for this to have really come together. Unfortunately, there were moments that it seemed like it was going to get really interesting and then it would drone on. Overwriting does in another one. Which is too bad, because the underlying story was actually really good. Alice Knott and her life were fascinating when you strip it down.

Butler is clearly a genius. Through Alice Knott, he's woven a story that confronts mental illness through a strange tale of art vandalism/activism in a world nearing destruction. There's nothing conventional about this novel -- rather, it's experimental, and not exactly accessible. It's a challenging, though rewarding, read. The final quarter specifically unspools in such a way that you never quire understand what is going on, yet find much to admire in both the prose and the sheer verve it takes to drag a reader into the depths of such a fractured mind. This is a wild novel, and will certainly be Butler's breakthrough into the mainstream (I think, or hope).

His books aren't always (are almost never) easy to read, but Blake is pretty much a genius. And while slightly (SLIGHTLY) more accessible than his previous work, Alice Knott is still a very challenging read. Challenging, but rewarding. It is more about emotion and tone than narrative. You have to FEEL the story, feel the character. Because ultimately, that's what this is. An intimate, fractured character study of mental illness. Instead of viewing the story from the outside, you are put inside the characters head, and it is a scary place. If that's not for you, I get it. Fans of the experimental and Butler's previous work will eat this up. Definitely one of his best.

I gave up about a quarter of the way into the book. It felt like more work than it was wort, wading through the dense narrative which felt like the author's attempt to show everyone all the bog words he knows. The writing is difficult, the story slow to unfold, and what I read simply did not compel me to keep reading.