The Living Realm
Slim but astonishing ... Those expecting the novel to replicate that show’s raunchy titillation will instead find in The Living Realm a far more elegiac, meditative work. Tannahill writes as gorgeously about nature...as he does about bodies ... Extraordinary and sensitive.
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Our narrator...doesn’t have a name, which is economical since he doesn’t have a personality either ... In non-professional circles, this is what’s known as padding, and The Living Realm has more of it than a furniture showroom. This is a dead giveaway that a novel should have been a short story, and it’s hardly saved by our narrator’s eventual inner crisis, when he decides to surrender himself to whatever the heck is going on in the woods:
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If he weren’t so young, one would be tempted to call The Living Realm Tannahill’s masterpiece, but who knows what is next for this singularly virtuosic talent? ... Every so often, art is so organic, so profound, so richly layered that it feels like a world one already knew in one’s bones. The Living Realm is such a book, suggesting that nothing we have ever loved truly leaves us.
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