We’re all dolls that crack. Very rarely is a book so unabashed about obsession and growing pains. The boundaries of the prurient are dysregulated. Jinnwoo’s POLO is a stark, spartan narrative of extracorporeal longing, of alienation from the self. It taps into something intimate and molten that boils you alive. A courageous, droll confrontation of sexual adventure and abuse, unafraid of idiosyncrasy or obscenity. It is tender and punchy, featuring an unforgettable, commanding voice teeming with violent rage curling into wisdom. There are no easy categories, no premeditated salves, just reality in all its unforgiving clarity and ambivalence. An unbridled joy, a small book as silver bullet forged to penetrate and detonate. There is so much space to grow from these savage and sobering lines. Its wit and brevity belies a warm depth and astute x-ray of its subjects. POLO explores a codependent relationship like no other novella has, implicating you astride their twin-like interplay like a hard habit. Its impression is not easily shook off. Its meditation on deviance is profoundly once-in-a-lifetime.