In her first novel The Enchanted, Rene Denfeld[1] provides one of the most glorious yet gruesome tales of torture and triumph that you will ever enjoy. Standby. You will live in the pit, but your life becomes illuminated—somehow.

Your companion in the dungeon narrates. He explains one salvation, saying, “The books brought brilliance to my life, and they brought an understanding: Life is a story. Everything that has happened and will happen to me is all part of the story of this enchanted place—all the dreams and visions and understandings that come to me in my dungeon cell. The books helped me see that truth is not in the touch of the stone but in what the stone tells you.”

This is from the doomed prisoner who traps you in agony and wonder that are oddly synchronous. Mystery and transparency coexist. He introduces you at the outset to some of your fellows in the darkness who offer justification for the enigmatic title: the little men with hammers, the flibber-gibbets and the horses!—the magnificent horses. They are golden and they fly in thunderous torrents trailing sweat and steam and shaking foundations and playing havoc with bulwarks that are in great need of our inspection.

The stones of your cell inform you. Deny this story if you can. You will not avoid it.

First novel? Yes, yes indeed. Bravo! But this is not Ms. Denfeld’s first book. This author is an accomplished writer, not only of books, also of many newspaper contributions. More importantly, she has such a grand scope of human life experience, and she has made damn good use of it. This first novel of hers deserves to be read, to be celebrated, to be extolled, to be discussed—yes, to be discussed—in high places and to dungeon hollows and to all the corners, chasms and crannies of human enterprise that ripple in between. For as this story goes, we learn in pure and painful truth:

“The attorneys seemed ecstatic, but they were not going where I was going. I had been handed a bomb to carry for the rest of my life. The bomb was my life.” (Chapter 5)

“Even monsters need peace. Even monsters need a person who truly wants to listen—to hear—so that someday we might find the words that are more than boxes. Then maybe we can stop men like me from happening.” (Chapter 7)

The bulwark is crumbling, at risk of collapse. And we must inspect it for needed repairs before our neglect or thundering golden horses bring it down on us.

Image: Cover[2] for The Enchanted. “…their hooves unafraid of damning the dirt.” (Ch. 6)

[1] http://www.renedenfeld.com/author/the-enchanted/
[2] Jacket design by Richard I. Joenes; Horses by Pavel Konovalov/Veer. Image from Ms. Denfeld’s website (above)