A review by unbornwhiskey
Infinite Ground by Martin MacInnes

3.0

somewhere between the spiral fictions of paul auster and stanislaw lem lies martin macinnes' hallucinatory interior, an evocative landscape in which minutes seem to widen and squeeze together like the bellows of an accordion, where the dense forest which makes up most of the interior's surface area seems to swallow any human settlement and any temporary perception acquired by the main character, an unnamed detective who moves through the story in a state of almost total confusion and uncertainty. around and within this interior, macinnes' investigates less the disappearance of a single person than the phenomena of disintegration itself. how do things and people just evaporate, escaped through some fold in our perception? is the process of disappearance abrupt, a gust of air and then nothing but space and swirled particles, or do they rot out of shape, slowly eaten through by an inner error until nothing remains of their original body? and to paraphrase michelle branch, where do you go when you're gone?