Eleven years in the making, Alexander Theroux’s hugely ambitious (and just plain huge, at 878 pages) new book tracks the vicissitudes of one Eugene Eyestones, an acerbic columnist who falls in love (and hate) with his boss’ wife, the titular Laura, his mind spinning out a desperate, ferociously eloquent cry of derision at both himself and her (“Laura’s conversation was jingle, sheer twit-twit, a blend of flip slang, ‘zine clichés, oneirobabble, pop lyrics”). Theroux’s prose sparkles and horrifies as Eyestones (figuratively) eats himself alive.

Eleven years in the making, Alexander Theroux’s hugely ambitious (and just plain huge, at 878 pages) new book tracks the vicissitudes of one Eugene Eyestones.