A Nobel winning physicist is approaching the descending side of his life. Michael Beard's had five wives with each marriage leaving a bigger pile of emotional junk in its wake. He can't or won't grow up. He just stays in motion hoping it will all sort itself out. It doesn't. It gets worse. By the end of the book there are sweltering piles of personal and professional cacao threatening to fall on him.
In classic McEwen style there is a pivot incident that changes or enhances the trajectory of Beard's life. The ensuing tragedy begets a kind of second life for him personally and publicaly. There are funny scenes in the book but no belly laughs. They're more of a one side of the mouth raised and a strangled guffaw type. Honestly this guy is so pathetic you want to jump into the book and drag him to safety, along with some of his hapless `victims'.
This wasn't one of my favorite McEwen novels but I still loved it. Especially wonderful was his description of southwest America. This is where his wry sense of humor really goes hot. The heat of this lonely area with its orange sunsets, the contrasts between the hyper cooled indoors and the stalking blanket of heat outside, the people who are at once expansive in their open hearts and provincial in their viewpoints. When you think of someone who's reached such a level as Beard's character there's a certain perception or expectation of sophistication and maturity. Beard defies such characterization. Toto's pulled the curtain away, by the end Beard is standing naked with a spotlight on him.
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