"Horse Badorties (Son of the Ginger Man, father of the Dude) rides again...Badorties' narration of his down-at-the-heels drug-fueled befuddlement in New York City circa 1970." --
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"Horse Badorties (Son of the Ginger Man, father of the Dude) rides again...Badorties' narration of his down-at-the-heels drug-fueled befuddlement in New York City circa 1970." --
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Seller's Description:
Good. All orders are dispatched within 1 working day from our UK warehouse. Established in 2004, we are dedicated to recycling unwanted books on behalf of a number of UK charities who benefit from added revenue through the sale of their books plus huge savings in waste disposal. No quibble refund if not completely satisfied.
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Very good. Connecting readers with great books since 1972! Used books may not include companion materials, and may have some shelf wear or limited writing. We ship orders daily and Customer Service is our top priority!
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Seller's Description:
Good. Good condition. A copy that has been read but remains intact. May contain markings such as bookplates, stamps, limited notes and highlighting, or a few light stains.
Choose your shipping method in Checkout. Costs may vary based on destination.
Seller's Description:
Good. Good condition. Good dust jacket. A copy that has been read but remains intact. May contain markings such as bookplates, stamps, limited notes and highlighting, or a few light stains.
This is a books a good number of people consider a classic and others don't know about at all. It's the story of a pothead who lives in New York's East Village in the sixties, and it kept me laughing out loud throughout. The Fan Man careens about the streets, stopping to press his ear to streetlights to listen to the music of machines beneath the ground (probably passing subways), his short attention span a slapstick riot.
Together with another book on the period I read recently, I Think, Therefore Who Am I? (Memoir of a Psychedelic Year), the Fan Man triggered nostalgia for an era I only know of secondhand, having been too young to have been there then; I got a taste of it in the seventies. That's another selling point of Kotzwinkle's book: the resurrection of a time (and place) that looms as an almost mythical period of both carefree and serious hedonism and self-discovery. I'm sure I'll read it again, when I'm feeling down and/or tired of the state of the humourless world we seem to live in now.
