I was thinking of writing a rock novel and gave up upon reading Espedair street. I mean what would be the point? There’s simply nothing I could improve on. You expertly wove in everything I expected and more. An explosive yet understated plot told through the eyes of Weir D. A tall gangly specimen with nothing but heart. To be honest if the books pitch was Fleetwood Mac’s torrid love triangle meets the Stones mad antics with a touch of Ozzy mayhem; it would have put me off. It sounds like someone trying too hard to cover all the clichés, but having read it, it would be unthinkable for it to have happened any other way.
Weird seemed innocent and fresh wandering through this gigantic starry world with a preconceived notion of what it would be only to discover it was ultimately hollow if only because like most of us we always crave what we can’t have.
I love the dark comedy …the carpet stain avoidance masquerading as servitude. Nearly falling out the plane and Betty’s coyness, cute touches that makes the book special.
The way you casually dropped in Dave’s death was pure genius, then went on to explain it in perfect detail later. Then the real gut wrencher Christine. Man I was upset, the thought lingers. I am glad I knew her and devasted she is gone (If you tell me it was a dream sequence I will believe you).
The end was cute full circle winding up where he started, very satisfying. It seems Weird had to take that path to openly appreciate what Jean had to offer, pure and simple devotion from the heart. I hope it worked out for Weird? The gawky hero who remained rooted.
Thank you Mr. Banks . Thoroughly enjoyed it and you saved me twelve months of writing.