on RONDO:

“Daringly prescient to the point of prophecy, wickedly insightful and most impressively crafted, this searing yet hugely enjoyable novel is in the grand tradition of De Quincey, Jonathan Swift and, latterly, Chris Morris. In an age of worthy but predictable writing, Maher's book is sui generis. It simply demands to be read."

Pat McCabe

Josef Divonne is angry with the past.With the glorious tales of the Sudden War

and the Purifications doled out by veterans Foucarde and Du Bois and his

father, around the chateau table, as they chomp on meats and fishes from the

colonies. At the start of the humid hell of High Thermidor, with a motley crew

of fellow dissidents, he crosses to Rondo.

Josef Divonne feels he is home, at last, and far from the vulgar life of Lower

Europe. He will eventually be forced to admit.

-’s gibt rien aqui! ‘s gibt rien!

And even the coveted dragonfly in the glass cage by his bed will not suffice to

make him happy. He has even begun to miss his wife and his sightless father...

As I lay back on my sleeping palette, that first night in Rondo, my thoughts flew

back to my boyhood when my world was made up of the sacred triangle of Uwe,

my blinded father, Nono, my grandfather, and the veterans-those doughty

survivors of the Sudden War, who were their boon companions. Closing my eyes,

I pictured, once more, the grubby little chateau outside 2me Lyon. 2me Lyon: the

first homeland to betray me. And I cried softly to myself…