His poisonously funny little picture books — deadpan accounts of murder, disaster and discreet depravity, narrated in a voice that affects the world-weary tone of British novelists like Ronald Firbank and Ivy Compton-Burnett — established him as the master of high-camp macabre.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Born to be posthumous ...
... Nightshade Is Growing Like Weeds. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment