Author of BF1 which is cool. Book follows a guy who awakens with no memory of who he is who is then haunted by a memory shark which wants to feast on him. A Memento-esque mystery told by a schizophrenic and unreleiable (by his own admission) narrator that plays with the medium of the novel in a bunch of fun ways.

We only see starlight because all the stars are bleeding

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I wanted to let my knees buckle. Let my shoulders slump, just let it all go – fall forwards, down, and finally, thankfully, out. This monster river could take me away and unknot me and spread me out however it wanted and however it liked because, honestly, finally, I just felt so fucking tired of endless hours of doing my shitty best to cling my component parts together as a human being.

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I'd written a sort of journal while we'd been away and even reading through it for the first time I could see how full of holes it was. We were never that cool or that witty. We didn't say things in just the right way all the time, or even a quarter of the time. There's nothing in there about how Clio could sometimes be unkind or about how easily she could lie to people if she thought it was better for them not to know things.... There's no way to really preserve a person when they've gone and that's because whatever you write down it's not the truth, it's just a story.

Novels with indices slap.

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