Another 24 hours and another compelling, but unsatisfying novel down the hatch. I can’t keep on going like this. Selected mostly for its likely titilation factor, this is the second Thompson one I’ve read; the first third in breathless anticipation during the 18 days of sexual torture inflicted on a (lucky?) male dancer by 3 young adoring anonymous female captors, the second two thirds in growing frustration as our victim goes about destroying his life, unable to cope with the shame.
Aha, so my similar cover tears are all just part of the distressed look. So many of the scenes, particularly those where he relentlessly stalks and sleeps with suspiciously similar women long after his ordeal to sight identifying scars of the original vixens seem made for TV, so it was no surprise to see this one pop up at the recent Melbourne Film Festival. I’m sure it was well attended. The book became tiring to me during the man-sells-all-his-possessions-and-travels-the-world-for-years-to-forget phase, and his inability-to-communicate-a-thing-to-anyone personality left me cursing in frustration. 3 stars.