by Lina Wertmüller
This novel, by the film director who made Seven Beauties and Swept Away, is about two men. The protagonist is a hugely successful writer of sleazy mystery novels. He was saved several times during childhood in World War II by a noble Italian named Alvise who is obnoxiously perfect. As a grown-up, he trots "around the globe campaigning for peace, justice, nonviolence and civil rights. Stuff worth three covers on TIME along with Superman and Mandrake." To cap it all, he wins the Nobel Prize with a book of poetry. By then, when Alvise shows up at an art exhibit, "Andy Warhol tries to kiss his hand. Rauschenberg listens to him with closed eyes. Segal asks for his autograph. They obviously look up to him as a great authority. I'm green...I'm foaming at the mouth." The hero's envy and hatred are so great that finally in a moment of passion he seizes a gun and—ah, but the incredible ending should not be revealed. The early scenes, with the two young boys as refugees in concentration camps, are written for laughs. Everything else about this novel is purposely vulgar, and its rollicking pace is unrelenting. All is expensive brand names, references to old movies, decadence, drugs and deviant sex, perversity carried to ludicrous extremes. There is satire, too, but it's outrageously ugly. (Morrow, $12.50)
Your Reaction
