I haven't had a Jonathan Carroll in a long time, and this short sharp little novella is a bracing reminder of his lovely prose, his insights and meditations on life and love and art, and how quickly that can swerve into deep strangeness, terror, and even horror. In Black Cocktail, a grieving man is introduced to an affable and generous raconteur, a pleasant and rewarding relationship until somebody from the past intrudes and it becomes apparent something fantastic and surreal and terrible has happened, and it's still happening. Gorgeous, mind-bending, lovely, creepy, rich and deliciously poisonous. That's a Jonathan Carroll book all right.