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288 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1964
"You look tired, Lew. But you do exist."
Footsteps approached from the direction of the main house. A big man in an alligator coat emerged from the fog, his bald head gleaming in the light from the doorway. He greeted Bradshaw warmly:
"Hello, Roy. I enjoyed your speech, what I heard of it. You'll elevate us the Athens of the West. Unfortunately a patient dragged me out in the middle of it. She wanted to know if it was safe for her to see a Tennessee Williams movie all by herself. She really wanted me to go along with her and protect her from bad thoughts". He turned to me. "Mr. Archer? I'm Dr. Godwin."
Dr. Godwin is just a son of a bitch.
Like most analysts.
Only he seems intent on directing his patients to follow a script of his own making.
We drove toward Reno, a city where nothing good has ever happened to me, but I kept hoping.
So many suspects.
I guessed wrong every time I thought I had a handle on the plot.
I was wrong every time.
When the culprit is revealed in the last 15 or so pages, I was stunned.
It was just too sick.
Every character in this novel is a mental case but nothing prepares the reader for the Big Reveal.
She explained about all the brilliant ideas ***** was always hatching. The one I liked best was a plan for a condensed version of the Bible, with all of the offensive passages removed, for family reading."
The architecture of her face had collapsed under the weight of her flesh and years. Still, her black eyes were alert, like unexpected animal or bird life in the ruins of a building.
There were mottoes on the walls instead of pictures, and one of them brought back with a rush and a pang my grandmother's house in Martinez. It said: 'He is the Silent Listener at Every Conversation.' My grandmother had hand-embroidered the same motto and hung it in her bedroom. She always whispered.
Somebody has to assume responsibility. There's a lot of it floating around loose at the moment. You can't avoid it by crawling into a hole and pulling the hole in after you.
Kincaid was a frightened man who valued his status the way some previous generatiosn valued their souls.
She explained about the brilliant ideas Jud was always hatching. The one I liked best was a plan for a condensed version of the Bible, with all the offensive passages removed.
I walked on to the next corner, sat on a bench at a bus stop, and read in my new book about Heraclitus. All things flow like a river, he said; nothing abides. Parmenides, on the other hand, believed that nothing ever changed, it only seemed to. Both views appealed to me.