As Hennie sees it, the terms “communism” and “cancer” are redundant when paired together. “There is no such thing as red red,” the porcine capitalist insists, and the lengthy, meandering picaresque that leads to the discovery of ForLord’s forge continually emphasizes that point in comic, outraged terms. In this world, tumors themselves call for an end to anti-malignancy bigotry in all state and local agencies,” plus “free college tuition ... for cells of underrepresented pigmentation,” and Hennie early on encounters Stalin, Mao, and a generic bureaucrat cooking up a stew and singing a jaunty (and legitimately funny) song: “Flash fry the legs before the canning. / We’ll cook it right with central planning.”

Those communists’s “branding,” Hennie observes, is effective among the population because it “uncouples the truth from the brain’s database,” and then a soothing creature called the SandHand assures believers of their moral superiority. “I’m better than anyone who sounds smart or has talent or is wealthy,” it whispers to sleeping fellow travelers, “because I am morally superior to them.” A mad poetry powers Hyde’s prose, which bounces with allusive and alliterative energy, but the novel’s length, density, and frequent narrative aimlessness will challenge all but the most dedicated anti-commie fiction enthusiast.

Takeaway: Satiric, alliterative, allegorical epic pitting a savvy pig against collectivism.

Comparable Titles: R. Scott Cornwell’s #ScaryWhiteFemales, David Templeton’s Bread.

Production grades
Cover: B+
Design and typography: A-
Illustrations: N/A
Editing: A-
Marketing copy: B