Graham Joyce has an ability to write stories that defy easy description. This novel, which was also published under the title “Memoirs of a Master Forger,” has for a protagonist an extremely unreliable narrator who has a heart of gold but a troubled past, and the two are interconnected. He “sees” demons all around and refers to reference books in which these demons are supposedly ennumbered, but it doesn’t take long for you to start to question both the existence of the book and the demons themselves. And that inability to distinguish reality from fantasy continues throughout the book.

This book appeared in 2008 and by that time Joyce had made enough of a name for himself that his audience knew to expect strangeness and charm from his novels. Unlike debut novels, which are now required to start fast and explosively, this novel is a slow burn, enabling you to get into the life and psyche of the characters before the explosion happens (which it does, about halfway in). By that time, it’s almost anti-climactic, another bit of weird in a book filled to the brim with wonder.

I love this kind of thing, and Joyce remains—next to Jonathan Carroll—one of those writers whom I’ve never disliked anything they’ve ever written.