Title: Not his best, but better than anyone else.
Product review: T.P. seems to have slipped out of what must have been quite the run on drugs, and created a novel actually quite clear (relatively speaking- the plot is no less wrapped in out around and up upon itself than any of his other books), right up until the end where the dark and bitter murkiness that is so beloved about him comes back out in a utterly confusing metaphor/anticlimax. Still, he cannot be beat word-for-word play (keep your eyes peeled for the "slimebag" reference) and there is no end to his strange humor and laid back characterization. The mainstreaming of this late-eighties novel makes you wonder about lashback to his older prose style (V., Gravity's Rainbow) in "Mason and Dixon". Not only worth the read, worth to buy and just have around as it is one of the few truly poignant social commentaries on the end of the "baby-boom/ greed-driven/ hippy sell out" shift into the nineties (whatever they might be considered to be)
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