Ahhhhhh!
Now here's a case of right-place, write-time; this book hit me at the perfect moment...a late summer fog of hazy rock 'n roll memories, mounting paranoia and unease and vaporized thc.
Doc's adventures through greater lala-land (and his brief journey to los(a disorienting vortex on which the book hinges)vegas) are filled with puns and songs and drugs and sexy ladies and strange villains and golden fangs.
Yum.
Everything gets pretty hard to follow.
As it should be--detective novels should never make perfect sense the first time through...can't wait to take this trip again.
Thomas pynchon rocks me like a hurricane.
So.
Let's leave it here for now.
Slide into the surf, burn one down, find a piece of lemuria.
Damn.
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