I went into this novel with something like high hopes, and they more or less did not come to pass. The novel is cluttered and crowded, muddled and kinda muffled, and manages to feature both vague Lovecraftiana and incompetent (or at least out-of-their-league) criminals, two of (at the moment) my least favorite things. The characters all kinda blur together, and there's stuff going on that wraps up in like a last-minute rugpull. It's clear Igleasias holds Puerto Rico dear, which is about the only really good thing I can say about it.
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Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury
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