Ray Holland’s The Hermit is a spare, absurd novel. And I love it. There are few pretensions to literary merit here—which makes it all the more meritorious. The whole book is written in a dry, conversational tone, and the wit comes on nonstop once you read the first page. Wisecracks run right alongside sometimes poignant—and sometimes not so poignant—observations on society and how it attempts to shape us, but one never gets in the way of the other.

Indeed, it is Holland’s humor that make this story so thought-provoking. A serious work examining sex, politics and public relations would be steamy, full of intrigue, and utterly boring. Over-done. With The Hermit, however, the story latches on and does not let go until your sides ache from chortling and you actually are thinking about the message. This novel is a demonstration of how books like Narnia or the Lord of the Rings touch people so deeply, without ever devolving into overly complicated plots or overtly flowering prose.

Not to say that Holland comes close to those titans, however. At times the narrator’s voice breaks from the usual wry tone, jarring the reader, or else strives too hard. The morals of the story sometimes are hammered onto the reader rather than deftly ingratiated, but that is one of the pitfalls of such a starkly written novel; it is sometimes hard to get ideas across without being obvious. But The Hermit is similarly broad in its characters, gladly embracing archetypes, and Holland’s style is simple. Simple, but effective.

In short, The Hermit is a great read. Quick, pleasant, and funny.

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