Make of this what you will (it takes some doing but as one character says ""It all fits somehow. . . we just don't know how""). Carol Hill's extravaganza is a compound of many things. . . of drugs and dildos and Impressionist paintings and guns and World War II secret codes. . . of time-shifts and connections and reprises. . . of actual period photographs and documents reproduced here beginning with Magritte who sets the surreal tone. . . of actual people from Hussein all the way to Martin Bormann, to those who figure in these bizarre proceedings which begin with the murder of an elderly eccentric in London -- (bullets and LSD) -- who collected some of the manuscripts which will later appear. And also including Avian Braine, a double agent and divided man who blanks out from time to time; but particularly, especially and mostly Anna, a sort of sumptuously sexy Barbarella fantasy figure who makes nine million dollars a year on her back, an inexhaustible courtesan with a decadent innocence who drifts from lovers to assignations in her search for her father whom Avian Braine cannot identify except as a Nazi and whom she confronts in a Candyish finish. . . . A compound, yes, a put-on with a manipulative bravura which will remind you of others -- say Fowles or Pynchon or indeed Southern. Your ordinary reader may not submit to this kind of high-handed hype, but surely if ""Life is a most peculiar affair,"" this rendition of it should startle, tease and entertain you simultaneously.