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328 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1997



Axel always sat in the rear row of the gallery, where he could watch the lawyers for the sugar producers, the man from the corn belt, the vice president of the railroad union & the airplane manufacturer cup their hands to their ears when they heard something familiar--the quota, the price support, the tax break, the subsidy--and watch as the votes were tallied, ticking off the yeas & nays on their own scorecards & rising wearily at the conclusion, smiling or not, according to the vote, relinquishing their seats to the lobbyists whose legislation was still being marked for the decisive vote.It is said that everyone in Washington "works for the government" (in some manner) whether or not he or she carries a specific portfolio. Much of Ward Just's novel is geared to illustrating this notion. Another character laments that he has never found the opportunity to travel outside the country but then confides that every place outside of Washington, D.C. is "just a suburb".
The moment had aspects of the bazaar & the auction block & the trading floor & the burlesque house, all business conducted in an arcane tongue with its special rules of grammar & syntax, assisted by a lifted eyebrow or a pointed finger.
Axel knew the senate chamber as well as he knew the garden room at Echo House. He knew the feel of the mahogany desks & the nap of the carpet, the crowded rows filled with anxious men in a rut. No wonder, in their crazier moments, senators wanted to be fitted for togas.

“If only the American people were as good and competent and compassionate as their government.”
“You’re a lucky man, to know people who repay their debts.”