T.C. Boyle in the LA Weekly Literary Supplement
Hello readers of books and other literary things. The current issue of the LA Weekly comes with their regular Literary Supplement section.
His new novel doesn't come out until next month, but right now you can enjoy an excerpt from T.C. Boyle's upcoming novel Talk Talk.
Here's a little taste:
There was a moment of suspended time, the cop frozen at the wheel of his car, she giving him a helpless exculpatory look, and then she was past him and cursing herself as she watched him pull a lazy U-turn behind her and activate the flashing lights. All at once she saw the world complete, the palms with their pineapple trunks and peeling skirts, the armored spines of the yucca plants climbing the hill, yellow rock, red rock, a gunmetal pickup slowing to gape at her where she’d pulled over on a tan strip of dirt, and below her, a descending expanse of tiled rooftops and the distant blue wallop of the Pacific, no hurry now, no hurry at all. She watched the cop — the patrolman — in her side mirror as he sliced open the door, hitched up his belt (they all did that, as if the belt with its Mace and handcuffs and the hard black-handled revolver were all the badge they needed) and walked stiffly to her car.
For the full excerpt go to LA Weekly.com or TCBoyle.com.
His new novel doesn't come out until next month, but right now you can enjoy an excerpt from T.C. Boyle's upcoming novel Talk Talk.
Here's a little taste:
There was a moment of suspended time, the cop frozen at the wheel of his car, she giving him a helpless exculpatory look, and then she was past him and cursing herself as she watched him pull a lazy U-turn behind her and activate the flashing lights. All at once she saw the world complete, the palms with their pineapple trunks and peeling skirts, the armored spines of the yucca plants climbing the hill, yellow rock, red rock, a gunmetal pickup slowing to gape at her where she’d pulled over on a tan strip of dirt, and below her, a descending expanse of tiled rooftops and the distant blue wallop of the Pacific, no hurry now, no hurry at all. She watched the cop — the patrolman — in her side mirror as he sliced open the door, hitched up his belt (they all did that, as if the belt with its Mace and handcuffs and the hard black-handled revolver were all the badge they needed) and walked stiffly to her car.
For the full excerpt go to LA Weekly.com or TCBoyle.com.
scribbled by Rob at 11:00 PM - permalink
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