Call Me A Cab
The fault is not in my stars, but in porous memory from the years that have passed by. I can’t recall, but I seem to hear a distant echo, a teacher, a literature professor along the way, he liked Westlake’s canon, and the professor made wry references. I could have it wrong. I’ve tasted a few novels, before, never got up to speed with most of them. Engaging cover art, a time when I desperately need a distraction from the world news?
Part way through, there’s a gratuitous one-night stand that leads to a long sideways discussion about prevailing sexism and sexist attitudes. Post-modern, but an original copyright of circa 1978? Almost pre-revolution. It makes me think, material on a similar level is in my early astrology work, and does art forecast a fundamental change in human behavior? Or is that an accidental agent of change? Honestly, in my own work, it was a fundamental accident.
Libraries. Librarians. Books. Each book, even if it is a seemingly inconsequential work by a minor pulp author, each book can potentially transport the reader to foreign worlds, new lands, greater vistas, and sometimes? Open mental doors that weren’t open before.
The afterword helps make sense of the novel’s intent and possible direction, I’d think of it as a crime book with no crime, or better, a romance novel, bodice ripper rip-off, with no sex. Not much.
