I don't write books. If I did write a book, I'd be concerned that someone might recognize himself as a character, however loosely, and sue me. It wouldn't particularly bother me, but my lawyers and agents would be all shook up, and the project would be squashed. Michael apparently doesn't share my concerns.
I received this book as a review copy, and stated my policy that I would not be able to review it unless it had more than 3-1/2 stars, or had some significant literary merit, or offered a unique viewpoint of benefit to the 6 or 7 billion of us on Planet Earth. In accord with those reservations, I offer this review. I didn't much like the beginning - kind of slow, kind of implausible, kind of wooden characters, uncertain point of view...John Galt pops up years later, he's been cropdusting or something, he's married now, he's still a little out of touch with reality. But who isn't? I kept reading through the middle, didn't like that much either - kind of a kabuki theater of the absurd, Officer Monday out on a mission to clean up the neighborhood, strange characters appearing out of the mist...yes, some are easily recognizable as present day actors, Michael should expect some legal difficulties. Why can't we have a modern literature like the old literature with memorable characters like Yossarian, Count Alucard, Morticia Addams? I didn't like the end, either.
In short, a thought provoking book, that might make you feel a little uncomfortable, and might become influential. When Michael comes through town, I'll go get a signed copy. You should too.