Masqueraders

‘Capildeo’s sentences are taut, elaborate, world-building, reaching out to the other – to the limits of otherness in experience and language – before springing back to expose something intimately known or wholly surprising. In these essays, letters, reports, echoes, fables, explorations of faith, Capildeo moves beyond the grasp of political and ecological violence, even as they bear witness to its various forms. “The memory of having read a book,” writes Capildeo (paraphrasing the woman who ran the bead shop near Helmsley), “is like kissing with synæsthesia.” That, too, is the experience of reading this book: senses are mingled, solitudes joined, and certainties confounded.’
Will Harris

‘These are literary dispatches from a brilliant mind. Early in Masqueraders, Capildeo writes, “This report comes to you from a little blue room of birds,” perfectly and beautifully describing the territories of place, solidarities, and ineffability that these sparklingly wrought sentences inhabit. With breathtaking erudition, stunning observations of the worlds of the world we live in, each paragraph is a new turn on the materiality of language or what Capildeo calls “the shared technology of the imagination”. In the end, “You don’t even know what breathing is”.’
Dionne Brand