A Critic's Meta Review: 4/5
Yet another instance of trickery that I have fallen victim to. Alas, such an occurrence has become quite routine at this point. This is not to say that I have grown accustomed to it - it is simply to say that I am no longer startled by it. Indeed, it is to be expected that whatever I happen to expect regarding the plot of a particular novel is bound to be totally off base - this is the nature of my predictive functionality. Non-existent. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. A big, stinking donut hole. No jelly; just vaseline.
This book is further proof of this phenomenon at work. When I first read this title, my initial reaction was that of extreme, unbridled enthusiasm. In fact, so ecstatic was I that I began to dance uncontrollably, in a parka and a pair of cleats, inside of my apartment complex. So lively were my movements that the people living in the room beneath us started bangng on their ceiling, sending a message through the floorboards for me to pipe down and get to bed for crying out loud, since it was nearly four in the morning. How foolish of them to assume some sense of normalcy in my sleep schedule.
As it turns out, I am in fact the moron in this scenario. Not only did I land myself a noise complaint, but the dance that led to it was performed under false pretenses. You see, if you are like me and grew up watching situational comedies from the 1990s, surely the name Carlton Banks rings a few bells. And when you think of Carlton, what is the first thing you think of (besides his diminutive stature)?
I will answer this question for you, since I have no idea how I would be able to hear your answer from where I am sitting: The Carlton Dance.
The song to which this dance must be performed (or else it’s just swinging your arms around and looking silly) is “It’s Not Unusual” by the Welsh singer Tom Jones. Herein lies the confusion - I had assumed, foolishly, that this was a book about the aforementioned singer. It is not. It is a book about a fictional Tom Jones, written by a guy who is famous for basically introducing the idea of cops to England. Samuel Taylor Coleridge thinks it’s perfect, though.
He knew what he was talking about. I don’t - listen to him, not me.
But he’s dead, though. So I guess you sort of have to listen to me.