Hotel Point

"To read Kevin Davies is begin to see all language usage caught in the Swale of Irony, a low meadow'd depress aiming for the rad heights, the protuberant Swell of Sincerity, or Sublimity, or something. The form is there, and generally "correct" but one gets a hell-hound feeling that that beatific and washcloth-scrub'd Sunday schoolboy up in the front row's busy goosing the minister's girl mid-recital, and that such goofery'll likely rearrange the neural synapses of both, and for some lengthy period to come."