I'm in awe of this book. I felt each and every character, Lou, Dawn, Jerry even, Jessie Orcutt and William Orcutt himself, and the Swede of course, mygod. The last few pages, where he was about to break, are stunning.
This example of morality and of facade at the same time is close to the Candide and Dostoevskij's Idiot in some ways. So non-violent as to seem dumb or simple, and so liberal as to be superficial. And yet. All his love for the simple beauty of his like as simple and work-ridden and moral as it was.
The question of morality on the brink of all the changes in history, that '67. When there still was something solid, and then one cannot be sure of his own identity. And we arent'.
This one can stand next to DeLillo, and going straight to my memorable-reads stack.
And to think I was suspicious about him, was I never more mistaken.