There is usually an exotic element to the setting and/or plot of Irwin’s novels, but The Limits of Vision takes place in a single day in the life of a 20th-century English housewife named Marcia. The text follows her fantasies, wonders, and anxieties throughout, and she gives a wonderful new level of meaning to the phrase unreliable narrator.
Despite her morning coffee with the neighbor housewives, Marcia is a solitary soul in a distant marriage, and her visionary experiences stack up favorably against those of any anchorite you’d care to name. Instead of seeing Jesus like Julian of Norwich did, Marcia receives visits from various artistic and scientific geniuses of more modern periods. She also resists the onslaught of the diabolical intelligences that she associates with the dirt of her house.
I can’t offer too much more detail without ruining the delightful surprises of this short book, which develops quite a tense plot, all things considered.
“I’ve prepared a PowerPoint presentation that will cover the basics of what I wish to discuss with you,” Lucifer begins, opening up the ThinkPad. “Stop,” Billy says. “PowerPoint?” “It’s my preferred medium,” says Lucifer. “No,” Billy says. “Just no. You want to talk? We can talk. But I’m hungover, I’m annoyed, I’m still kind of losing my shit, I’m not watching a freaking PowerPoint presentation.” “PowerPoint is actually quite unfairly maligned,” Lucifer says.