"Within the psychic architecture that is EVER, Blake Butler explores the way bodies swell and contract, going from skin to house and back again. And the way houses too shrink to fit us first like clothing and then like skin and then tighter still. The result is a strange, visionary ontological dismemberment that takes you well beyond what you'd ever expect."
"Blake Butler is a daring invigorator of
the literary sentence, and the room-ridden
narrator of his debut novella, EVER,
nerves her way into a hallucinative ruckus
of rousing originality."
"In EVER—as in, indicating any time in the
past or future-light is entropic; "the sky could
lift your skin off"; domestic rituals are anamorphotic
mind fucks granting "no exit method"; and doors won't open
even when you don't try. Articulating viscera, ever inside,
Butler's narrative dispatches are enclosed between parentheses
like unfinished houses, the pages opening out occasionally
into exquisitely burnished fields of imagery. Much in the way
minerals are pushed up past the mantle by core collisions,
EVER reads to me like new evidence, delicate gear
that allows us to glimpse a place we've always lived
but still don't know."