another review of Quinnehtukqut

Reconfigurations has just run a long, very generous review of Quinnehtukqut some two years after the book's publication. I'm perpetually surprised, grateful, and humbled by the reviews this novel has received. Here's part of a paragraph from Michael Tod Edgerton's review:

One of Harmon’s key strategies is to undermine his own reliability as a narrator, to fragment his narration like memory and history. Here identity is so many floes of Antarctic sea ice, and the vast terrain of that which lies inaccessible beneath the currents haunts every page and gives the book a richness around which its surface whorls. The powerful and unsentimental affective force of this novel lies in the palpability of absence, loss, and mystery it places at the center of its skillfully drawn figures. It inflects the very sentences and paragraphs themselves as much as it does the larger formal strategies. Like the lyrical prose of a Virginia Woolf, Jamaica Kincaid, William H. Gass, or Carole Maso, Harmon’s writing is sensual both with the melancholic clarity of this absence and the rich-dark loam of a presence—the rhythm of this present moment, this body, this place—that hums through the language to (in)form its music. Quinnehtukqut is a gorgeous, intelligent, and extensively researched historical novel that far transcends the limits of any such generic designation (at least as the book-selling market tends to think of it today).