Good grief! I thought I'd read every book Stout wrote,
including some pretty poor ones that were supposed to be his
early efforts. I'll have to look for this one myself, even
though I'm not getting any reading done these days. Thanks
for the tip, Dave.
Joy
Dave wrote:
> I had gone through all the Nero Wolfe books about 25
years ago and have
> been wanting for a long time to read How Like A God.
I finally got my
> hands on a copy. It is simply one of the more
brilliantly written and
> bleak noir books I've encountered. The only thing in
common this has
> with Stout's Nero Wolfe series is that it is
masterfully written. The
> book was published in 1929, and only in a few places
feels at all dated.
> The book follows thirty soome odd years of the
protagonist, Will Sidney,
> jumping back and forth between different events in
his life. This
> character is for the most part disconnected from his
life, the course
> his life takes seems to be at the whim of those
around him, and as
> things progress he goes far off course from any
sense of normalcy.
> There's a desperation in his search for a connection
to something,
> anything. Written in the second person, and, along
with the way the time
> sequence shifts around, it leaves you feeling almost
as disconnected as
> Sidney. Here's an excerpt from it:
>
> You spluttered, raving, your face almost touching
hers, and all at once
> you saw two glistening drops of yor saliva appear on
her cheek, beside
> her mouth, but she did not lift her hand to remove
them; they remained
> there, shining like silver bubbles. For an instant
you gazed at them,
> fascinated; then, dropping yor handkerchief into her
lap and saying,
> "Wipe off your face," you stepped back and stood
there looking at her.
>
> "You don't need to spit on me," she said. As though
suddenly hypnotized
> into an immobility to match your own, you stood and
watched the accurate
> and inevitable movements of her hand as she picked
up the handkerchief,
> damp with your perspiration, and rubbed it back and
forth across her
> cheek; always the same, the same as when she is
eating the candy you
> bring her or unbuttoning your clothes ...
>
>
> Oh yeah, this was Stout's first book. And a hell of
a first book!
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