I’m copying over some reviews of titles I’d written up in 2018 and earlier, just in case these titles are new for other people.

This book, along with the two previous installments in the series, was handed to me by this beaten up concrete snowman I’ve always had. It only has one arm and it’s covered in bird droppings, but it occasionally has excellent suggestions as far as reading material is concerned.
This was one of those times, not the others.
This book felt more mature, in a sense, than the previous two in the series…the personal relationships between the characters felt more visceral and true to life, and there was a miasma of despair that sort of flowed through the whole narrative in a way that led to everything coming across as more real even though this story was just as full of surrealism and insanity as the previous two.
I will be sorely disappointed if there aren’t further adventures of Dave, John, and Amy…now featuring not Joy Park.