The jokes, puns, allusions, references, word puzzles, innuendo, and flat out pratfalls never stop in Paul Beatty’s The Sellout. My poor brain feels it is missing half of the comedy, even while it is laughing and sighing and gaffawing. Don’t get me wrong, this is serious satire, extremely well-done, and I am in love with Mr. Beatty’s technique, deft understanding, and careful depiction.
I’m near the end of this novel and I’ve slowed down my reading considerably because this is a story I don’t want to ever end.
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