In the Early Seventies, I was earmarked by a young Yorkshire lass to be her Other Man in a Love Triangle, starting that night, if I consented. My Moditen refused. Thank Heaven.
I was hot to trot, but my meds were not.
Of course I thank my Lord and all His Saints now, but in the seventies I was cannon fodder for such foolishness, being, like Tom Bross, the child of new age parents.
But even they they kept it hidden from scrutiny, as most do in the suburbs. Hippies excepted.
Tom's folks are of that ilk, alas. At mid age Tom can't stand the pressure of his past, and so implodes, breaks down and spills the beans - millions of em - to a shrink.
That's the spoiler. This book is his life story to that shrink.
His beans swim in Jalapeño Sauce. Extra silent but extra deadly.
This book is the first of a trilogy, which purportedly improves in redeeming value as it goes on. Tom finds HIS redemption in the final book, through an ongoing act of selfless family love.
But all Peace has its price…
Folks, honestly, reading this I wanted to retch. The Seventies were my private Family Curse. This book took me back there.
Ghouls and all.
Love it or leave it, Fergus. I left it. DNF.
If you see it, it's probably cheap in stores. The content is cheap as well, if you have half a scruple.
Don't go there unless you've already got scruples, and are thus proof against its depravity.