The book’s tone is so trustworthy that you would be forgiven for thinking (or hoping) that some of the featured fauna and flora were real. There are the flesh-eating weaver fish, which can swarm together en masse as one sentient body; killer condors that aren’t what they seem; migrating birds called swints that have strong ties to the Catholic Church; and the gold-yielding seki fruit – all linked to one another. Through these creations, Edeson rekindles our amazement at the everyday wonders of nature. It doesn’t matter that they don’t actually exist outside the novel; the bogus science behind them is beautiful to read, and quite convincing.

Just as playful are the names of Edeson’s characters, from the dream-studying polymath Edvard Tøssentern and the villainous Karl Fiendisch to the storied Misgivingston family. For all the cheeky wit that abounds, however, there’s a competing share of darkness in Edeson’s unpredictable tale. Tangled corruption sets into motion danger and death, and what begins as a tale of quirky academics suddenly becomes a fast-paced thriller for most of its mid-section.

That Edeson can balance action clichés with gorgeous scientific asides is proof of his unique gifts. The Weaver Fish is not merely ambitious but unclassifiable. Rather than fitting into any comfortable genre, it evades them as deftly as Edeson toys with science and language. The book has been pitched to lovers of puzzles, and it’s easy to see why: it makes us deconstruct and question every sentence.