This is one of those books that I can’t entirely tell if I liked all that much, but also that if you told it was actually really good, I would believe you. It’s not entirely that it was “over my head” so much is outside of my experience, especially in terms of language and style, that I didn’t find it as joyous to read as a lot of other readers seem to. That said, it’s clearly up to something impressive that I cannot deny it. […]
There was a chinaberry tree in the front yard of that house in those days, and in early spring the showers outside that window always used to become pale green again.
Train Whistle Guitar by Albert Murray