If Benjamin Labatut’s When We Cease to Understand the World felt like the searing flash of a hydrogen bomb, The MANIAC is more of a measured descent, permeated by a pervasive, unnameable dread.
If Benjamin Labatut’s When We Cease to Understand the World felt like the searing flash of a hydrogen bomb, The MANIAC is more of a measured descent, permeated by a pervasive, unnameable dread.
