I was at first very impressed with this collection, but I now think it’s an illusion. It’s not that it has flaws, though it is too expressive to the detriment of engagement with anything much in the world. I find it very odd and unsettling how the lack of interest and inconsequentiality to its content is mirrored in the lightness to its form, especially how that can make it seem perfected.
This is only a minor work of Scully’s, but I don’t think I will enjoy his more important ones now.