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358 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1959




Mr. Mavole began to make a lot of slobbering sounds so Raymond said roughly that he would write when he knew what flight he would be on and he hung up the phone and felt like an idiot. Like an angry man with a cane who pokes a hole through the floor of heaven and is scalded by the joy that pours down upon him, Raymond had a capacity for using satisfactions against himself. When he got off the plane ... (you know what those dots mean, don'tcha?) He decided Mavole's father must be that midget with the eyeglasses like milk-bottle bottoms who was enjoying sweating so much. The man would be all over him like a charging elk in a minute. etc etcSo that kinda writin', "prose" as they say, wasn't like anything I was used to. I dunno, maybe that's the kinda writin' they did in the 50s. Maybe thats what Keroac sounded like when he wrote On the Road which I read way back then, but I don't remember now what it sounded like? Anyways, after I got over my surprise, I decided I kinda liked the way the book sounded, and the story was pretty tense as soon as it got goin', so I read it and finished it and liked it. And let me say, I was surprised and shocked at the ending, thanks to not ever seeing the movies.