The Truth of Bourgeois Gardens

From Peterb:

"Once the reader is lured to begin the book, there is no respite. It begins with an almost Tarantinoesque shock of bloody violence:


Ten little ladybugs, sitting on a vine.
Along came a butterfly, then there were....

and when the reader turns the page, of course, they will find the word "nine," and the first of the harmless ladybugs has been consumed by the innocently smiling butterfly. The phrasing of the poem, an homage to Agatha Christie's classic suspense thriller Ten Little Indians, is both calculated and cruel. As in that grim, humourless work, there is no detective come to save the day here; no Pea weevil Poirot to stop the slaughter and accuse the guilty. All there is here is death, senseless and brutal.


Nine little ladybugs, skipping on a gate
Along came a caterpiller, then there were eight."