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Cleave the Sparrow

Some books tell a story. Others drag you into a chaotic, unrelenting experience that scrambles your brain and leaves you questioning everything. Cleave the Sparrow is the latter. It’s a fever dream wrapped in satire, political absurdity, existential horror, and bursts of unfiltered genius. The plot follows Tom, a hapless nobody turned political pawn, as he stumbles through a world of cults, conspiracies, and reality-shattering revelations. With a cast of characters that includes a lizard-skinned scientist, a woman who smells fantastic but may or may not be leading a revolution, and a man hell-bent on proving existence itself is a lie, the book barrels forward like a runaway train powered by hallucinogens and bad decisions.
There’s something hypnotic about the way the book is written. The dialogue is rapid-fire, the narration drips with cynicism, and the absurdity is turned up to eleven. One moment, Tom is navigating political disaster control for a debate where his candidate is outed for a romantic relationship with a coffee machine, and the next, he’s deep in a cave listening to a ten-year-old mutant threaten to cut off his genitals. The pacing doesn’t just keep you engaged, it holds you hostage. The prose shifts between sharp, witty banter and sprawling, mind-bending monologues about the nature of perception and reality. And yet, it never loses its bite. The humor is dark, the satire is ruthless, and the commentary on politics, media, and human nature is as unsettling as it is hilarious.
The concept of tetrachromats (people who can see more colors than the rest of us) expands into an existential metaphor about perception and control. The idea that we only see what we need to survive, and that our understanding of reality is inherently flawed, becomes a driving force behind the book’s most unsettling moments. Tom is thrown into a world where people want to break the system, not by fixing it, but by blowing it up, sometimes literally. And, disturbingly, the book makes a compelling argument for why they might be right. One of the best moments is when Wilder Crick, a lunatic or a prophet (or maybe both), lays out his plan to destroy the cosmic projector that creates our false reality. It’s so ridiculous that it loops back around to being plausible. The book constantly dares you to laugh at its insanity only to make you realize, with a sickening twist, that the joke is on you.
That being said, Cleave the Sparrow is not for the faint of heart. It revels in discomfort. It gets grotesque. It crosses lines, sometimes gleefully. The Howitzer House sequence, where people willingly undergo extreme psychological torture as an entertainment experience, is a stomach-churning look at human masochism and our obsession with “real” horror. It’s sick. It’s fascinating. It’s also an extreme version of things that already exist. And that’s what makes this book so effective. It takes absurdity and stretches it just far enough that you can still see its roots in our own world.
Cleave The Sparrow is for people who enjoy satire so sharp it draws blood, philosophy so deep it makes your head hurt, and humor so dark you feel guilty laughing. It’s for fans of Catch-22, Infinite Jest, and Dr. Strangelove. It’s for anyone who has ever looked at the world and thought, this can’t be real. Because maybe, just maybe, it isn’t.
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