Toad, Katherine Dunn’s third novel, written in the seventies but unpublished until now, comes closest to lucidity in moments like these: when the dry humor for which Dunn is known edges into something resembling a serious engagement with the racial and domestic politics of the liberation movement. Sam “talks about the ice in the bucket,” Carlotta says, “but he doesn’t mention how the bucket got up the hill.” In the novel, statements of this nature feel sparse, appearing too sporadically to consolidate into a cohesive critical statement — perhaps less because of a lack of conviction on Dunn’s part than because of the book’s unwieldy structure.
