Blacker, like Graham Greene, seems to divide his fiction into ""novels"" and ""entertainments""--a distinction we were unable to make here. This is a popular production number which hedgehops chronologically and geographically between wars and from Addis Ababa to Mexico to Paris or Rome. It's a eulogy-elegy for one Wade Tyree, a ""lousy, talented son of a bitch"" who chased women and followed the action. Before he shoots himself through the head on the last page of the many here you will have been reminded of Hemingway and one can assume that ""this is intentional-the virile romantic flexing his pectorals, or apostrophizing, ""the living and dying. That's what it's all about."" Heavy drumbeating by the publisher may secure a more resolute readership than seems possible.