But, the structure of the plot was like a machine, just in the way that the plots of Thackeray and Dickens are. It was even cruel, it looked so hard, and so carefully, at masculinity and cowardice. And it was dick-lit, but it was not in the least self-indulgent. I have very little attention for that type of thing. When I started, I thought it would probably be too dick-lit for me because it was clearly shaping up to be so hardboiled and because I think of Wolfe being in a whole gaggle of male authors who want to talk about how tough it is to have a penis and be so emotionally unavailable. And it is because it is a book that feels so current and urban, while it clearly has classical structure and the involved plotting of Dickens and Thackeray. It seems so obvious after you say it, but rather than realizing that, I just kept thinking, I've never read anything like this before. Wikipedia told me that Wolfe modeled his writing after Thackeray and Dickens. Towards the end, I had to listen in private, so that my sobbing wouldn’t embarrass the neighbors or lead to a meltdown at work. This is one of the audios I listened to while I walked to work, so the neighborhoods of Eugene had the dubious privilege of waking to my shrieks and hysterical cackling for many mornings in April because of Tom Wolfe. This book made me scream and gasp and stop, sit, and stare. I just want to read it over and over again, mystery intact.
How does it happen? How does someone put something this perfect together? And I don’t even want to know.
The idea of writing such a beautiful book kills me. I’m pretty sure he’s gotten it, but just in case, my wish is out there. But, I wish on Tom Wolfe a lifetime supply of sex and ice cream because of this book. Anybody! Not that I’m recommending everyone start stalking him. I hope Tom Wolfe has gotten anybody he’s ever wanted – x-ray, lemon tart, girls with any shade of lipstick imaginable, men with impressive sternocleidomastoid muscles. I hope women (or men) invented a time machine to travel back in time and lay young Tom Wolfe because of this book.
I hope women have put down this book, thrown on some lingerie, and walked over to his apartment – unless Wolfe is gay, in which case, I hope men have done the lingerie thing. I hope Tom Wolfe has gotten so laid because of this book.
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