"This would be a poor and revolting little book (fewer than 100 pages, which is quite enough, really) if it did not have such a poised tone and sensibility, such intelligence, behind it. Or if it sheltered itself, in cowardly fashion, behind allegory. It is the apotheosis of sick humour, the kind that makes us both laugh and confront things we would normally rather not. . . . With its intimate involvement with the decaying body it makes other engagements with death and the macabre look like silly, superficial flirtations. . . . This is a masterpiece."