The simplest way to explain David Hollander's Anthropica is by saying it's about determinism and free will. But maybe it's also worth considering that a Hungarian boy and the death of the family Very Good Boy, extended Frisbee — excuse me, flying disc — digressions, Oprah, vultures and crabs, cuckoldry, Styx and Radiohead, characters with names like Joyful Noise and Henry Henry Puddin' Pie, a future (ha ha ha ha!) ruled by robots, fractals, and liberal use of the word "goblin" are but a sampling of elements in a novel with all the ambition of Gravity's Rainbow or Infinite Jest at half the diarrhetic length, a giddy tincture of literature's potent promise fulfilled. Are people afraid of stories like this now or did almost everyone I know and every outlet I check just sleep on it? Whatever the excuse, I'm glad I didn't when it found me. Ever read a book where you're afraid you'll accidentally open it and catch a glimpse of the last page, spoiling the joyful quiet of absolute presence? This one's like that right down to the last line of the acknowledgments. This is The One.