It was one of those odd revelations. It occurred to me I had never read the literary equivalent of the screwball comedy, nor could I recall that any such thing even existed. It is, after all, a genre that relies heavily on delicately layering absurdity.
In film and radio, the chaos and the cadence is either harnessed or lost by the delivery of the actors. Books, though, are translated by the voices inside the reader’s head. Is it even possible to guide the reader to the correct pacing?
Kate and I discussed this at length, and both decided it was impossible, but that I should try anyway. If it works I’ll post it on the site. Haha.
So what’s the story?
The son of a securities mogul returns from Greenland with an exquisitely preserved Devonian tetrapod. He is eager to begin preparing and describing it, but his father intends to set him up at his company and refuses to fund any further fossil foolishness. The son instead takes a job at a hardware store and falls in love with a working class girl, etc. and so forth.