Mirage

A debut novel that delights and provokes in equal measure, bravely voyaging into the liminal space where astrophysics collides with metaphysics, posing the question of what is real and what not, and what is the nature of the red curtain that divides the two? Is the connection between Elizabeth, writing of a boy trying to harness the moon at the tail of the 19th century, and Michael, researching Elizabeth’s life in the early 21st while chasing his mother’s ghost, more than merely academic? Mirage is a love song to the mysteries of the universe, to the stars and the flora of the Karoo; a tale of loss and of healing, of coming apart in order to knit together; an ode in praise of the power of narrative to thread together the disparate stars of our human experience; a mystery story exploring the permeability of the borders between centuries, and between the living and the dead. With characters as raw and vivid as its landscapes, and with writing that is as much poetry – or painting – as prose, and that handles the boldness of its subject matter with remarkable sensitivity, it’s a literary black hole (in the best sense possible) whose gravitational force cannot, and should not, be resisted.