Calling to mind Swift, Twain, Austen, and Jerome K. Jerome, Powys manages masterfully to cover the spectrum of human failings, from petty to vile, with insight and humor. A delightful entertainment with a wit too rarely seen now in fiction.

Powys’s quaint village brims with eccentrics and sinners, and gentle humor exists alongside a brutal frankness about power and sex. It is hard not to succumb to the strange, animating energy in Powys’s allegorical tale about Death’s redeeming qualities.

His masterpiece.

This forgotten gem from 1931 is an odd and idiosyncratic story about a rural English priest who befriends Death. Powys mixes vivid descriptions of landscape with his own unique humor to write a novel unlike anything you’ve read before.

An esoteric genius: his books are puzzling, engaging, and illuminating, glowing with a gentle, a half eerie light, humane, ironic and wise. Powys gives pleasure and delight, unique and surprising music.

Heretical, scandalous, and mocking, but essentially parables.

Very few twentieth-century authors have the knack of writing convincingly of first and last things. T.F. Powys is one of them.

One of the most original of all English storytellers. T.F. Powys’s novels and the powerful Unclay ‘stand up like oaks.’

Unclay is such an odd and unlikely book that it seems scarcely more real than the fictional books Borges delighted in. Behold visions that owe a debt to Blake and the novel’s theological concerns and earthy humor harken back to Swift, but Powys’s ambivalence seems hyper-contemporary: I loved this book.