Wilder Crick is dead—thank God, and also, maybe, oh no? That’s the chaotic, razor-sharp energy Jonathan Katz injects into Cleave the Sparrow, a genre-defying fever dream of a novel that reads like Hunter S. Thompson freebasing Kierkegaard during a political campaign meltdown.

At its surface, the book follows Tom—Crick’s awkward, bewildered apprentice—and Shelly, the hyper-competent campaign manager with the empathy of a guillotine, as they attempt to honor Crick’s dying wish: uncovering the “true, hidden nature of reality.” Whatever that means. What begins as a surreal scavenger hunt quickly spirals into a gonzo exploration of ego death, apocalyptic politics, quantum uncertainty, and the kind of philosophical whiplash that leaves you wondering whether the book’s next twist will be a nuclear explosion or a sudden monologue on the illusion of free will.

And somehow, it all works.

Katz is a literary bomb-thrower, gleefully mixing satire, existential dread, and absurdist comedy in a narrative that’s part dystopian political thriller, part metaphysical head-trip. The pacing is relentless, the tone whiplashes from hilarious to horrifying, and the prose reads like poetry written during a panic attack. It’s a book that demands your full attention and pays it back in wild revelations and deep, soul-punching questions.

This isn’t a comfort read. It’s a challenge, a dare—equal parts chaotic road trip and philosophical descent into madness. But for readers willing to lean in and let go, Cleave the Sparrow is one of the most original, thought-provoking, and gloriously unhinged novels in recent memory.