When I saw the cover of this book amongst the countless all-caps titles and author names with flashy images that adorn most of the new fiction collection, I snapped it up like a gold nugget in a muddy riverbed. The lack of words on a book cover was half of the attraction for me. In particular because it was in the fiction section, so it couldn't be an art book or a poetry collection. I was not disappointed. I wouldn't recommend this book for everyone because it is so unique that readers with a strongly held notion of "novel" will be frustrated by it. From start to finish every sentence in The Interrogative Mood: A Novel? is a question. Yet, Powell manages to establish a substantial character for his narrator, or should I say, interrogator? Not that this feels like an interrogation in any negative sense. The questions spark nostalgia, curiosity, introspection and at times, fear and disgust. By the end, I felt a kinship with the narrator and I appreciated Powell's mastery in crafting this most unusual book. I can't think of when I last felt so strongly that I wish I had thought of that.