There's a lot of great speculative fiction coming out of South Africa, and Cape Town in particular, at the moment. Charlie Human's debut continues that trend and he does so with the gusto of a wrecking-ball, albeit one glowing with occult cyphers and imbued with the sardonic wit of a libertine at a church bazaar.
This is a relaxed and self-assured debut. Cocky, the envious might say. The kind of debut that saunters nonchalantly into the seediest bar in town (ahem, the Kimberley, ahem) and asks to see the winelist. And gets one. And everyone goes about their business.
Yes, there will be those who begrudge Charlie his Cabernet Sauvignon, and complain that he didn't have a beer first. They will gnash their molars and low, rattle their wattles and crow, but one cannot aver oneself from the evident:
Charlie is a f*ckin' good writer, this is a f*ckin' great book, and he's got a f*ckin' bright future as a novelist ahead of him.