Description

Downscale personal wang Harry Rigby begins throwing out wisecracks like ignited packages of firecrackers on page-one of the Irish crime tale, and he does not let-up before last sordid piece string is singed into distribution. In both discussion and first-person narration, Rigby resembles the gin-soaked love baby of Rosalind Russell and William Powell--except he smokes box in the place of swilling martinis. Rigbyis constant linguistic pyrotechnics may appear like overkill with a. But visitors who move with the patter--'I needed to ask why blondes never got around to dyeing their brows but her eyes were shut and the gash in her neck went six inches east to west'--will discover it driving the narrative forward in a thrilling pace.