There are times, rare times, when I can randomly pick out a book at the library, that holds my interest for more than a couple of chapters.  Sometimes I even commit to 200 pages before realizing what a pretentious, formula plot twisting piece of literary shit it is.

Then, I come upon Through The Windshield.  I read the first chapter.  Sounds poetic.  Yeah, I'll take it home and give it a try.

As I continue to read, I get a whiff of tobacco smoke....something sweet, either cloves or a pipe....reminds me of my grandfather's books.  After he died I raided his library with whatever I could carry.  He was married to a psycho woman who was trying to get us out of her life, I knew my only chance to have a piece of my grandfather was to take what I could from his library, books on engineering, a bible in Norwegian and other stuff I'll probably never read. 

I would leaf through the books, drunk off of the pipe tobacco that would rush up my nose when I turned a page hard.  Reminding me of his existence, of his life,  romanticizing him to be more than he really was....wishing he wrote about his world travels instead of lecturing his grand children about the horrors of Nazi Germany and justifying his agoraphobia.  I didn't realize he was agoraphobic until after his death.

I digress.

Whoever checked out Through The Windshield book before me was a smoker.....must've blown it right into the pages....giving me sweet aroma-therapy while reading about a cab driver.

There's still a reason for me to pick books off of the shelf at the library at random.  There's still great authors out there who are schooled in Celine and the poetry of language....emphasizing theme and character development over plot twists and who done its.

It took me quite a while to read this book.  I'd only read a few pages at a time....set it down.....stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, grab another squirt of scotch and crack the book back open.  I repeated this.  It's a savoring thing I like to do with great books.  Through The Windshield is one of those.

Tony DuShane