still life with a pecker
I used to love Tom Robbins. His writing is like this Cool Jazz that comes around and gets you all the time without ever having any caffeine in it. I would read his books and snap my fingers and go, “Dig!” I didn’t like his politics or philosophy but I didn’t care. That’s how jazzy his writing is. It makes you not care that it’s trying to start an argument. Like a beautiful communist virgin you can tell likes you at the bar. That’s his writing.
All my friends are clever. One who is quite clever read a book of his that I loaned him in Korea. We didn’t have many books so they were like gasoline in Road Warrior. It was the book with the monkey and the jade enema nozzle.
He said he didn’t like it. He said it was obvious. He said he was sick of second person narratives. He said that the female characters in Robbins’s books were unrealistic.
I reread that Robbins book but didn’t like it anymore. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to agree but I could see what my friend was saying. I don’t like Robbins now. I don’t like that friend much either.