My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Sorry, sorry, I know I am 25 years late, but: This is excellent.
I am not sure I was ready in 1987 to read Wolfe, whose swollen bursts of ellipses-ridden inner monologue can grow to be tiresome, if not outright painful, to digest. But the story of “Bonfire,” dipped in the slick, stylized honey of New York, went down nice and smooth now, in my near-dotage.
If you can pick the ellipses out of your teeth, the balance is so rewarding, so compelling that you will find yourself using cliches like “it’s a page-turner” when talking to friends. But it is, it drives you to keep going, to put off whatever so that you can the end of a chapter. And to nervously check your momentum as you fear missing your train stop.
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