There is much to admire in the way Dektar delves headlong into this delayed adolescence ... It’s a riveting thing, desire; The Absolutes asks you to consider what matters more: the moment the stone is dropped into the pool or the ripples that spread across the surface long after the stone has sunk out of sight. Either answer could be right.
The book lives inside Nora’s perceptions, which after a while become as redundant as the sex itself. Perfect for those who like a soupçon of Wittgenstein and a dollop of Meister Eckhart with their sadomasochism.
