Physically this book is as intimidating as the butterfly on the cover; the muted greens and tans, along with its small size, give Wide Slumber the impression of being precious. But the pure joy and pleasure of ferocity that rawlings attacks language with inside the tiny covers is enough to marvel even the most seasoned readers.
That’s not to say that the book is a harsh read; it is really anything but. The lines move with a breath grabbing fluidity and the diction (and its subsequent breakdown) is superb, round and brittle like the insects of title.
