or some, The Cipher might be hard to decipher (hey, that rhymes!). First off, its structure seems purposely nonsensical. At least, the people don’t make a lotta sense. So you might start out mad that no one seems to be treating this hole in the ground with the methodical, reasonable investigation it deserves. Then there is also this weird de-escalation (and re-escalation) of our heroes fucking with the hole that goes something like this: 

They find a mysterious hole the floor, and they start sitting closer and closer to it and get kinda high off the risk. Then they put a jar of bugs next to it to see if anything happens (something sure does). Then they drop a FUCKING SEVERED HUMAN HAND INTO IT (what?). Then they drop a video camera down the hole on a string (which produces a mesmerizing but no less enigmatic Ring-like videotape to pass around and recruit others)… then there may have been a second video camera involved, but it got broke? Then the main dude fingerbangs it. The hole, not the camera. Then they stake it out to see if anyone else is visiting it (which leads to nothing really), and then…

The point is, it seems like one or more of those things was totally out of order. Meaning the dead fucking hand. And sometimes it seems like the whole trial is out of order (no, you’re out of order!), so it took me until about fifty pages from the end when I finally realized this book was just never going to do what I wanted it to do. Because none of these people treat the hole like "normal" people would. And that’s okay. Because they’re not normal. And that’s when it hit me, like a flaccid penis across the face. This is a gaggle of goddamn artists we’re talking about here. Of course it is. And those people would be the worst to camp out around a paranormal event. Flaccid ambitions all. And now it all made sense.

Side note: this novel sort of reminded me of an equally amazing film, The Parking Lot Movie, and how, despite that staff’s/cast’s equally impressive lack of anything resembling ambition, they all treated their own personal purgatory (not a hole they could fist, but a parking lot hut others could shake their fists at) with the aimless curiosity and burgeoning reverence you would if you were stuck there long enough. And they weren’t even a bunch of failed artists. They were failed everythings. But also not failures at all. Because they got the most out of that goddamn parking lot hut, reconstructing and deconstructing it every way they could. Except for one guy, I guess, because he went on to be the guitarist for La Tengo or some shit. Fine, he DIDN'T make the most of the hole, er, hut, and went on to bigger and better things, but if he hadn't? If he hadn’t lucked out with a career in the impossibly fickle music industry and went on to be just a half-ass musician, or sculptor, or filmmaker, he'd be a wonderful addition to the reluctant protagonist’s ever-swelling crew in The Cypher. And he would have written a terrible song about the hole with his feet dangling over the edge.

The hole itself remains a mystery, as does the finale, but this feels right. You know those ACME portable holes from Looney Tunes you always wanted? Well, these punks found one. And even if a coyote endlessly plummeting to the desert floor that never came wasn't what was revealed deep down inside the damn thing (actually it kind of was?), a personal descent was available for the curious. Or the drunk. Or the bored. "The Funhole," as they call it (a name tossed around so much I'm 200% convinced that was the original title but I refuse to Google this), has an incredible authorial voice echoing off its black walls, and the meandering leads helped highlight Kathe Koja’s sentence-level acrobatics, a high-wire act over a hole that is worth jamming your head into.