From the first of The Sellout, I was just thrilled to the point of joy by the style / voice / tone / language of the prose. I commented to someone it was almost like reading a novel written as poetry, and one person said, well, Beatty is a poet.
It has been years since I’ve felt this about the language of something I’ve read – I more often have this kind of joyful reaction to a feature film, I guess, and in writing I more often react to the ideas and content than I do to the style. Not to downplay the content of The Sellout – the absurdity has all the mirth of Pynchon, but in a modern context.
Highly, highly Rx-ed.