Once in a lifetime you come across a book that appears to be written about yourself. You read the
What I like about it is for one thing it has real descriptions and adjectives and does not read like a screenplay. Honestly, I am so tired of books written these days in anticipation of the movie. Perhaps you are familiar with the Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown? The book sold an awful lot of copies. In the first chapter we are introduced to our hero and Mr. Brown describes him as a "young Harrison Ford." Gee Whiz talk about type casting! You have to wonder if that was edited in later editions to read, "a middle aged Tom Hanks." And what about if the book is still being read a hundred years from now? Will anyone know what a "Harrison Ford" looks like? Imagine if Dickens or Wilkie Collins used cheap shots like that, and described their heroines as "a young Lilly Langtree" we would have to have photos in Bleak House to know what he was talking about.
So I appreciate Mr. Dickerson's skill with language. It is pleasant to read someone with the ability to paint a picture and give us a scene. We walk into the life of a 49 almost 50 year old silver maned tiger named Rick Boston. The scene is sort of reminiscent of Humphrey Bogart at Sam's. Except there is no denying Rick Boston drinks too much. I like the way the author describes the facts without just saying, "he drinks too much." So many of the screenwriter ilk type authors pepper their books with sentences like: and then he did this, and then he did that, and the whole novel reads like a bad stream of consciousness dream. I miss real writing. I miss plot development.
Rick Boston, aka Richard, is about to have an adventure. Mysterious women are descending upon his quiet life at the bar. For a 49 year old, almost 50 year old man he sees a lot of action. He listens well. He hides a secret that unfolds as the plot does. We discover he's been married four times, and widowed once. There is a story to one of the divorces. I'm not going to tell you because I want you to buy this book yourself and read it.
I was going to say in what ways this book was like my life, just because it's so dang eerie. I met my former husband, the love of my life, when he was 49 not yet 50. It stuck in my mind because a month before his birthday was when I met Howard and he wanted to know if I would open a bank account for him that was supposed to be for people age 50 and up. I made an exception for him because I believed he would keep the account open, which he did.
The next woman Boston meets is 22. He wonders about the age difference, but they seem to have a special connection. My first serious boyfriend was 27 years older than me, when I was 20. I swear I am not making this up. We had the same conversations that Rick has with his girlfriend, even the same fight when "Tony" offered to help me. Now that I am older, I understand why he offered me a hand up. At the time I was so bent on making my own way, so wary of being labeled Tony's arm candy. But oh, what a strange coincidence the club scene! The young character Darcy goes out with her young friends and in her mind compares her (much) older boyfriend to what she sees. It ends the same way it ended in my real life. When I wandered back to Tony's house, late, and had a conversation with him.
A road trip soon follows under circumstances I can't explain to you without revealing too much of the book. Suffice it to say as the characters enter Mexico more film noir plot unfolds. Who is the mysterious woman? What does she want from Boston?