The Books

by

, pages

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One Potato Review

Odd, a little awkward sometimes, but genuinely haunting: you will read this book and feel like nobody has ever passed this way before. Here is Death in a robe with a gaping, grinning skull, here is Duck inquiring, Um, what are you doing here? And pondering whether the world would continue without him, and many other head-scratching things. Here is Death taking a nap, climbing a tree, here is that Tulip that either didn’t make it over in translation or remains deliberately unmentioned – like a lot of stuff between these covers. Here, in short, is a book you are unlikely to ever hear about again once it is banished to some poorly lit warehouse like the Ark of the Covenant in Indiana Jones. That’s too bad. Death turns out to be a pretty nice guy, apart from his gaping, grinning skull.

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