The Loneliness of the Whale, by Lily Markova - 5 Stars

An opaque, porcelain bubble of a book written for people whose feet never quite connect with floors, “beautiful in ways that only senseless things can be”, fumbling in caverns of the soul, a whale sings at the wrong frequency and is never heard, a rushing man awaits a lift like a metal tortoise, the boy shakes his head with the strangeness of it all, powered by an internal organ, a lungeyeart, as he studies how other people would describe a sensation and stores that form synonymously like a reliquary of Aspergers in a psyche tainted by an exquisite torture, soon to fall apart like shoes from Marks & Spencer, as a bottle whistles and rattles like an old kettle in a world of benign assimilation and disconnection, they take you without asking, change you without explaining, drop you without warning, look through you without caring, where “crowded cities are the loneliest places on Earth”, a “chunk of ice adrift in an open ocean”, humanity is “that passenger on a crowded bus next to whom there’s always and empty seat”, “a name, a couple of fake words that don’t make any sense”, Christ, this woman writes like Hrabal, as “the Sun longs to hug us until we are ashes” and Joy departs happy, to elsewhere, a poignant allegory for the malady of splintered glass and renewal.

Neater than D.B.C. Pierre, beyond the valve of John Kennedy Toole and more soulful than D.H. Lawrence, here is an author growing, becoming outstanding, slipping past all three in my opinion.


  1. Beautiful review, Faith! I will definitely look out for this book, it sounds amazing :)

    Amy @ A Magical World Of Words


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