Look what McClusky did to this novel -- a vague narrative blending past and present in a tone so self-consciously dreamily elegant that no one could possibly care what happened to whom, let alone when. Mack, the central character, left Santa Fe seemingly eons ago with his horn en route to one of the standard black ways of making it -- but he gets waylaid by various women, men and cops. In Cape Cod he sells bootleg liquor; in Boston he short-order cooks; he works construction, plays gigs, but what he does best is living off the fat of his ladies -- amazingly many of them. At the end he becomes a preacher to a congregation more captive than that unidentifiable readership.