<DIV>Celebrated by the <i>New York Times Book Review</i> for its “genuine grace and beauty,” Terese Svoboda’s work has been called “desperate, chilling, seductive” (<i>Vogue</i>) and “haunting and profound” (A. M. Homes), while <i>Vanity Fair</i> warned that it “detonates on contact.” In <i>Tin God</i>, her writing can only be called . . . divine. “This is God,” the novel begins, helpfully spelling G-O-D for the reader, and we are spinning on our way into the heart of a Midwest that spans spirits and centuries and forever redefines the middle of nowhere.</div><DIV> </div><DIV>Whispers plague a desperate conquistador lost in tall prairie grass. Four hundred years later, a male go-go dancer flings a bag of dope into the same field. God, in the person of a perm-giving, sheetcake-baking Nebraska farm woman, casts a jaundiced yet merciful eye over the unfolding chaos. Fire and a pair of judiciously applied pantyhose bring the two stories together. A contemplation of divinity and drugs on the ground, <i>Tin God</i> is a funny yet poignant story of the plains that transcends its interstate spine and exposes us to a whole new level of Svoboda’s fiery prose.</div>