Her and Me
Although grammatically awkward, there is a bit of sensory perfection in the very first description that the narrator offers up to describe he and his co-protagonist. He and she are almost immediately situated as physically complete by the end of the first paragraph:
“Her in a green chiffon minidress and pale green tights on a pair of long, willowy legs, and me in a pair of brown hiphugger cords and a green turtle-neck sweater. Her six feet tall with long, blond hair that hung clear down to the sweet curve of her ass and me at five-five with black, wavy hair, but lovers, and we both looked hip enough get into the pad and score some acid.”
Collar the Jive?
If one did know that this novel was written in the time period on which it was set, there are some passages in which the imagery is infused with jargon and slang that would make it seem ironic, retro, and perhaps just a little comical:
“I forgot all about her reply myself when I saw him. At first, I thought I had seen the fancy silk shirt around the street. It was such a brilliant pale blue and had such full sleeves trimmed with lace that nobody would forget it once he had seen it. But it was the guy’s round face and fuzzy, golden beard that set the bells ringing in my head. Then I remembered. He looked just like the cat who had set up about fifty surfing hippies the summer before down in Santa Cruz, and every guy in the crowd who was smoking grass in June was in jail by September.”
Lotta Movies ‘bout Them?
Ever catch a piece of imagery that kind of knocks you back a step because it just seems so idiosyncratic? Check out the punch line on the description the narrator gives us this character. It almost can’t help but raise the question posed above:
“He was followed into the room by a tall, skinny hippie with a thick Indian nose and slanted eyelids—wearing a sleeveless Mexican vest, made out of wool, with fancy designs on it-whose sallow skin and long hair and beard made him like a movie version of a Mormon preacher.”
Dialogue
Even the dialogue carries the drug-fueled heady imagery-laden writing which characterizes the narrative prose of the first-person perspective. Throughout the text, the characters speak in the crackling electrical fire of pulp-fiction at its pulpiest:
“Just wait until the cross comes down and the Man catches us, and you’ll see how quick you want to stick with me for punching a narco agent in the mouth or how long you’ll want to stand by Sam when they bust him for sales and possession and unlawful flight to avoid prosecution, for having a whole flat full of dopefiends and guns.”
