Brock was almost out of ammo for his Tommy gun; but what he wasn't almost out of was guts; what he wasn't almost out of was heart; what he wasn't almost out of was blood-lust; and, most importantly of all, what he wasn't almost out of was hand grenades.
The Penultimate Hit, by Horace P. Sternwall; a Monarch paperback original, 1954.
(Scroll down the right-hand column of this page to find a listing of links to the opening passages of some other fine but sadly out-of-print novels by Horace P. Sternwall.)
2 comments:
Sounds to me like it's time for a Library of America collection of Sternwell. Harold Bloom might be available to write the foreword.
A long discussion over at "Outside Writers" (the weird division)is divided between a few who see concise insights as a "gateway" to appreciating classic literature and the many who argue that Horace P. Sternwell's paperbacks represent the pinnacle.
My position, that fiction is subjective, was briskly dismissed as feeble (and probably personal) excuse.
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