‘He had sat through a five-hour dinner with Ted Cruz in a private room at the Gramercy Tavern after which Joey Goldblatt had turned to him and whispered, “He’s a psychopath.” Page 8.’
That’s current events.
Inadvertently, I sense the answer to a question, one I’ve long mulled over with no satisfactory answer, akin to the universal, “Why?”
“38:1 In those days was Hezekiah sick unto death. And Isaiah the prophet the son of Amoz came unto him, and said unto him, Thus saith the LORD, Set thine house in order: for thou shalt die, and not live.” Isaiah 38:1 KJV.
It’s not like I’m ever linear in thought or execution. Huh.
Because there are frequent allusions to Fitzgerald’s Gatsby, I would put this in a more modern class of a “middle-life crisis” type of tale.
Tasty, engaging, traversing old, familiar grounds — El Paso. It was just a passing moment, but the idea was framed around a road trip. Framed around the famous On the Road style of a trip. Sex, drugs, and some music.
It was a snapshot of Old El Paso, but grudging respect, catching enough of the town in time and place. I made that arc around the butt of the mountains many times.
One question, posited early in the narrative, a question about collection resulting in curation, a pop-culture term, boarding on psychology.
That answer, might still be buried in the novel, and for me, it was a wonderful experience, touching on lands I know, if only for a minute.
The title was on a Saturday morning mailing list, the local public (digital) library had a copy, I grabbed it on Saturday morning, finishing it, and returning it, Monday night. I even had to work in between.
Kind of a “guy” book, written trying to be culturally aware, but, maybe missing, maybe missing on purpose?
I’ve seen the author’s work listed before, and I’ll bounce back and try some of his other works. An American version of Russian Lit?