And the pleasure of this project is a rare one: it is the pleasure of a person figuring out exactly what she ought to be doing. Their of-a-wholeness is why they are so often referred to as ‘a project’. The three novels blend together, and not to their detriment. Also, a fake Knausgaard shows up halfway through, and it rules. Writing about writers is supposed to be boring, but this, for my money, is the most fascinating thing Cusk has done. Occasionally you find yourself wishing for someone to get up and go to the bathroom, but most of the time you are transported.
There is a relentlessness to them, an onslaught that is like the onslaught of life. They seem to have been written compulsively they certainly read compulsively. The monologues in the Outline trilogy are controlled trances, like Stevie Nicks at the end of 'Rhiannon’: you enter the speed and the artifice and the belief of it with her. There is urgency, a wish to avoid unnecessary detours, for we have someplace to be.
In unhappier compositions her metaphors pile up and sit at angles like jigsaw pieces, but in the Outline trilogy they are masterfully in hand.
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