KICK ME IN THE TRADITIONS

In translation from the Danish colloquial enough to make the seachange imperceptible, this is the offhand, first person account of David, almost 18, from the time when his necktie gets caught in a cigarette vending machine and he almost chokes to death. Sometimes as shapeless as an ink blot, this record of the fragmentation of his thoughts while under the institutional care of a Dr. Schmidt leaves the reader to put together the pieces. Insubstantial figures appear and disappear: a father who drank and died; an effusive mother who sends flowers but is mostly involved with the younger man she has married; his friend Hubert, and his girl, Lis. Then there is the trouble with his legs; the cramps and the twitching; the uncontrollable impulse to kick people (which gets really out of hand when he is asked to give a lecture on traditions); and the final break as he runs- and keeps on running. The tattletale symptoms in the larger syndrome of emptiness and loneliness provide another inchoate impression of a troubled boy-- the Salingering imprint is obvious but there's not the definition, nor the appeal.