Gene Wolfe makes me feel…dense.
Not stupid, per se. I find that his prose is always clear, if sometimes antiquarian, and eminently readable. This is in contrast to, say, Pynchon, who often seems to revel in obscurity.
No, I just end up feeling like I am not smart enough to ferret out the subtext in his writing. I know it’s in there, but I’ll be damned if I can see it clearly.
I’m sure I’ll get around to re-reading _An Evil Guest_ at some point–his books always seem to warrant returning to–but right now, I’m still uncertain if I even liked it: the turn-of-the-last-century, stilted-feeling prose, the odd juxtaposition of futuristic elements into this old-feeling milieu, and finally, a sense of just not being entirely certain what the fuck is going on all left me a little ambivialent right now.
But it does have Cthulu in it, at least off-stage.