Frost

Frost is a work that takes tremendous liberties for a first novel. To write about the observations of a probable madman, about his dreams, and to make of him a kind of warped Pascal is an act of supreme confidence. The novel requires more attention than I was willing to give it, but there are doubtless facets and ideas worth excavating. The narrator may be standing in for many readers, however, when he says of the old painter he is tasked with observing, "I had understood nothing of what he had said."