In T.C. Boyle’s Trippy New Novel, Characters Turn On, Tune In and Drop Lots of Acid
As a kid growing up in southwestern Virginia, I lived down the street from a cloistered visionary named Greg, an older boy who read books and spoke in zealous declarations. One day of summer vacation when I was 9, Greg declared that we would build a monorail. This was an era of global oil shocks and nuclear meltdowns, and Greg was of the fervent belief that the monorail might save us all. It’s true that monorails at this point did not figure prominently into the rural imagination, and certainly not mine. But I knew there was one at Disney World and so I was, for a time, all in.