Actually, No

Only a few minutes had passed after that last post and I strolled through our library. I wasn't sure if the Grimmelshausen was exactly what I envisioned.

I fell upon Mr. Sammler's Planet by Bellow. I read forty pages and was struck. If I had been on holiday, I would've read most of the night. Its universality and reach for concepts were akin to Thomas Mann. Sure it had its neuroses, much like Herzog or Augie March: who can claim it doesn't after the black pickpocket shows Artur his penis?

I am around page 110 now and the force of such hasn't lessened. Crackpots, hppies and the over-rich and oversexed crowd Sammler's world. He wakes each day trying to gather a handle on it all and promises to bequeath just such a handle to his nutjob daughter.