When a novel invites me, as does the title section opening of Scott McCulloch’s debut novel Basin — “Figure in Terminal Landscape” — to approach it as I might a piece of visual art or dance or theatre, or even as a piece of music, my whole heart gladdens. Yes, and yes! Because this is what happens for me anyway when I read a novel, as I have always thought, since it will always be the thingness of the work and how that thingness affects (or not) my being in the world that tells me whether I am likely to keep that novel by me always or not.