Glenda Adams has written a wicked and witty novel.

Not having to own a car has made me realize what a waste of time the automobile is.

The whole process of writing a novel is having this great, beautiful idea and then spoiling it.

Statuettes of drunken sailors, velvet pictures of island maidens, plastic seashell lamps made in Taiwan. What contempt the people who think up souvenirs have for other people.

In what we think of as bad dialogue, the characters talk directly to each other.

...is this not in fact the purpose of young Americans going abroad? To make them think of things they never thought of?

The Novelist, afraid his ideas may be foolish, slyly puts them in the mouth of some other fool and reserves the right to disavow them.