Posing jauntily up a member of the Polyphonic Spree’s robe. *That Saint.*
The book has one of the world’s most intensely awkward first paragraphs:
“The big car had been sliding through the night like a great black slug with wide, flaming eyes that seared the road and carved a blazing tunnel of light through the darkness under the overarching trees; and then they eyes were suddenly blinded, and the smooth pace of the slug grew slower and slower until it groped itself to a shadowy standstill under the hedge.”
You know, one of those kinds of slugs. The ones with the big burny-eyes, that make tunnels. They are common in Florida.
I like how first the slug is “sliding,” but then it has a “smooth pace,” and then he kind of belatedly remembers what it was he was making this silly metaphor about to begin with, and has it “grope itself to a stop” in a more authentically sluglike fashion. Extended metaphors, what’re you gonna do. Mutter. Metaphors…
I guess this is just what happens when you have to crank books out really fast.