Well, here it is, a classic of postmodern fiction, in a special twenty-fifth anniversary edition, complete with an over-enthusiastic (if not overwritten) introduction. Well, it's an interesting read--more coherent than I was really expecting, if I'm honest--but the sharp wit and turns of phrase kinda disappear about a third of the way through, when something like a plot, or a story, or at least things happening, start to emerge: at that point it turns out that there's not much substance beneath that surface wit. It's pretty clear there are things the novel really wants to say, about consumerism, about fear of death, about media, about government and industry and pollution; and it's clear why some people think it's prescient, but especially toward the end of the novel there doesn't seem to be much signal in the noise.
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The Fox by Frederick Forsyth
I've read a handful of Forsyth's novels, some from the 1960s, and it's nice to find some of his later work. This feels a bit s...

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A beautiful novel about life as a mobster (in 1940s Tampa) and all the contradictions and complications of it. Lehane clearly has an ear f...
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A beautiful novel of violence, vengeance and pain, set against a backdrop of small-town bigotry. If you see this, or *Razorblade Tears*, t...
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This is early Vachss, all taut and violent, more than a little murky to my mind. It is not good to be a sexual offender in a Vachss novel....
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