Oooh, and he liked it. Score!
Jackson’s ensuing adventures are a kind of blood-drenched Magic Theater, a tour of the Western Lands under the guidance of el hombre invisible himself. I must confess, I rather missed our grittier, down-home visit with Jackson and his fellow small town glue huffers, but Bingham’s way with language keeps you going on.
Some lines are worthy of Chandler himself:
“He likes to live in a nutshell. All complete, but can’t hit back, when the world starts cracking.”
And check this out: I am apparently “one of the leading voices of the anti-natalist movement,” saith O’Meara. Some may find this a dubious compliment, but I wear it with stinking, rancid, human pride.