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259 pages, Hardcover
First published October 1, 1981
You know, Daniel, once I was in Kashmir, and my host, a very distinguished old boy from the Empire days, took me to a formal reception at the residence of the local maharajah, one of the few still out there--maharajahs are three to a block in some parts of Delhi--and I put on my best etiquette for the occasion. Trouble was, my etiquette wasn’t theirs. I made one gaffe after another. Thought I’d balled things up completely--and this was a man we needed, you follow me. Afterward, I was horrified. But my host told me, No, no, Andrew, you misunderstand. They were quite impressed. They knew that your code was different from theirs, but they could tell that you had a code--that was what was important to them, and that’s what they saw.”That’s simply a nice illustration of where the Universal is located within diversity of cultural practices, in the form, in the very having of a code, no matter of what it consists. Lesson over.
It sucks. The first few chapters caught a hold of me dealing with some 20-something dead-enders hanging out in squalor still very much caught up in nostalgia for their high school party days and lamenting about a friend who had committed suicide even though none of them liked her. The novel primarily consists of long droll conversations about high school and events around the time of the suicide and not much else. There's the intro character who's run back to his small town because he killed a junkie in an alley due in part to a song he performed, at least according to him. It seemed in the early chapters that the novel was about to work up to something but it never did. When it started shifting POVs it lost me, so I started speed reading. This book is bland, the conversations were repetitive, and none of the characters were really that great at all in any respect. I cannot recommend this, it's just really boring.