Were it not for the Jones name, one could easily admit that this is no better or worse than any aliterary novel of this kind which attempts to convert a scene into a property. There's a good deal of action on the streets -- May in Paris of 1968 during the weeks of student and worker disturbances -- which serves as a backdrop for other pieces of the current action, namely intergenerational conflict and interchangeable sex. As seen through the eyes of Jack Hartley, failed poet-novelist-husband but a very good friend of and to the Gallaghers: Harry, a film maker who favors sex a trois; his New England and next-to-last Puritan wife; and Hill, their son, who is part of the Cohn-Bendit activity until his father appropriates it for a film while also appropriating a seductive little black strumpet called Samantha-Marie. . . . Jones-Hartley has been living in Paris long enough to say "while I was making my toilet"; he's also old enough to be a benevolently avuncular observer and to mention, en passant, Irwin Shaw who like Jones shared a time that was, as well as a future that might have been.