Sunday, 23 February 2014

Feast Day of Fools by James Lee Burke

Some people said Danny Boy Lorca's visions came from the mescal that had fried his brains, or the horse-quirt whippings he took around the ears when he served time on Sugar Land Farm, or the fact he'd been a middleweight club fighter through a string of dust-blown sinkholes where the locals were given a chance to beat up what was called a tomato can, a fighter who leaked blood every place he was hit, in this case a rumdum Indian who ate his pain and never flinched when his opponents broke their hands on his face.

The one thing I don't like about this first sentence/paragraph is its length. However, it introduces a few things and in a wacky manner, establishing tone, that weird sense of wackiness. The character and the circumstances hook in this case, as this person seems like someone who goes beyond the cult mediocrity of us normal people. That's right, we don't like reading about mediocre characters because such characters remind us too much about ourselves. Wink, wink.

The first thing said is said in some foreign language. Not a good sign. I want to read a novel, not learn another language.

Nevertheless I'm hooked for the time being.

Verdict: Cool

Rudy Globird

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