This book provided me with a truly peculiar experience. It’s different, innovative, weird and so unexpected that I could not get what’s true and what’s a lie. I believe that this was the author intention so I think that he pulled it off just great.

More Lies is a mystery. A thrilling ride through the mind of a person willing to bend your reading experience. It starts like a film and finishes with the impression you missed a vital clue. One thing is for sure - more is on the way from this writer, Don’t be surprised if it’s the script.

I don't know what to make of this book. Never has it taken me this long to finish reading 66 pages. Can't quite put my finger on it but something about this just doesn't sit right with me. This story should be something I enjoy but I can't help feeling an immense dislike towards it.

Richard James Allen’s manic protagonist in “More Lies” has a sly sense of humour that first seems flip until your hit with moments of personal honesty. Like a sparing partner who seems harmless until he breaks your nose. Allen deconstructs the illusion of the continuity of consciousness into illogical disjointed moments of reflection that is our actual experience. Admittedly, the protagonist is an unhinged writer whose mind is lost without boundaries of narrative or at times a sense of self. “More Lies” is a fun and clever stream of consciousness tale, if consciousness is less of a stream and more like bursts from a sprinkler.

More Lies is like being arrested and given your rights - anything you do or say or read could be used against you. The tension is high in this novel, it is not a relaxed afternoon read. Very much in the moment to the point where the "writer" is practically standing behind you, reaching over and turning the pages for you, giggling in your ear in a manic pitch. It is a continuous flow, the writer must write to stay alive, just keep typing.

The result is a performance piece of the mind. A novel played out in real time before you. It is dynamic, dramatic, and crazy. I loved it.

The unnamed fabulist at the heart of this literary crazy quilt says he 'comes from a family of entertainers', and I believe him. Even though he told me he was lying. But that is the magic trick of 'More Lies': every time you feel you've got a grasp on it, it springs free, breaks into song, tap dances circles around your expectations and teasingly mocks your longing for a plot by giving you half a dozen. 'More Lies is an anti-novel, and not for the faint hearted. Get on board if you like dismantling cliche, trouncing propriety, and taking a rollercoaster ride through the fairground funhouse of the implausible, unlikely, outrageous and ironic all dazzlingly stitched together to cover a confession that feels somehow true. Even though it can't be. You wont be disappointed and you will be entertained, and who needs the truth when you can have 'More Lies'?

I honestly could not tell you what this was about. At first, I was quite intrigued by the title and the writing. The story starts with a femme fatale, a gun to the head, and a narrator who is told to start typing - the result of this typing is the story. The title, "More Lies," immediately invites the reader to mistrust the narrator, and the narrator makes it obvious he’s unreliable - a story that starts out sounding fantastical becomes improbable and then unrealistic. In theory, I like what the author is trying to do: put the reader off-balance through unreliable narration and a strange story and have the narrator talk to the reader as if they’re talking back. But the writing feels a bit much, and none of the narrative tricks he’s trying really work because they have no space to breathe, and there’s too little time and space for the reader to orient themselves in the story. Ultimately, this left me feeling confused and a bit frustrated. I think it would have benefited from being a bit longer and also trying to do a little bit less.

I'm so annoyed at this book. I don't know how to feel about it; did I just read something written by someone on drugs or if it was a journey. I guess I shouldn't take it too seriously, after all, as the author says

It doesn’t really matter what I am saying, so long as I have your attention. The truth is I need you to hear me, to see me. For all of this long and winding road you have allowed me to exist. Otherwise, I would have been only potential. Without your gaze, I am nothing.