This is really, *really* good, if you're willing to deal with Newman having the courage to have as his POV 1st-person narrator in a noirish mysteryish novel set in LA *Raymond fucking Chandler*. I'm fine with it, not everyone will be. Oh, and Chandler is more like Watson than Holmes--the smarter character, the better detective, is Billy Platt, dba *Boris Karloff*. There is, fittingly, some man-made monstrosity here, as well as some older inhumanity--not so much evil as monstrously aloof. I've read and enjoyed some Newman before--specifically *Jago* and *The Quorum*--so I had some expectations for this novel, and it met them. Though, this has more humor in it than I remember either of those two novels containing.
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Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury
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