In Books
Rarely is it possible for fiction this night-haunted and tortured to have such ease and flow. But flow is what the writing of Richard Yates does, even though it may start off in social embarrassment and run through painful miscommunication and foolhardy self-delusion before ending in nearly catatonic despair. There is a pounding life and movement in his gloomy pages that helps stave off a reader’s sinking notion that things are going to turn out quite poorly indeed for all the sad suckers whose lives Yates is maneuvering with autobiographical clarity. It catches you up before smashing you down. (Don’t say you weren’t warned.)
The Everyman’s Library Richard Yates is available wherever finely wrought but grim as hell literature is sold. You can read the full review at PopMatters.
Chris Barsanti 