The Tour offers another kind of Rebirth Incorporated (his earlier successful Seconds) for the material malaise of our flaccid civilization and it's also another poser-teaser not so much of life after death but of death in life. It's sort of a land cruise to some nameless country to the south where tired executives can have a chance to ""feel they're alive... burn a little."" Down in Santomaso, a town in ""perpetual siesta,"" there are beggars, dogs, rats, and rabid iguanas; but there's also a renewed momentum of the flesh and Walter Florentine, a vigorous fifty, finds all his prin desires revived, his capacities restored. Further, in the hinterlands, there's the attraction of death and the last scene in which a killer-machine runs amok has a lot of amperage... The philosophical asides on the impoverishment of affluence and the corruption of power aren't more than skin deep, but it is a suggestible entertainment--a second Seconds with the lure of the unknown and the unusual.