The funny thing about the use of figurative language in contemporary fiction is that it begins to feel so damned obvious. Like, hay-oh! Cleverness ahead, like a fog horn in a hen house! Which is fine, when the similes and the metaphors are good. Like they are, from time to time, in You Bright and Risen Angels. Take, for instance:

You bought books until there was no more room on the bookshelf, and the paperbacks that you would never read asphyxiated and split down the bindings from pressure of crowding, like steamed beans...

So, sure, it's true because I relate. But I only relate because it's true.