He and Mary had loved that album, playing it over and over again. He still liked the sound, even the sentiment, although it seemed so corny now. Corny, and not a little ironic. Ever will love keep growing strong, my ass.
As I sat in the audience listening, I couldn’t help but sympathize with Vincent Root. He suffered from a tragedy far worse than his failed marriage, a tragedy in the making as he navigated his Buick Roadmaster around the block to steal another glimpse at two young teenage girls that reminded him of ponies, or maybe otters, their bodies sleek and joyful, their movements fluid and confident, the rhythm of their gestures a bit arrogant and slightly provocative. Interestingly enough, and due to an agreed upon time restriction, if not a ploy to sell a few books, Dila left us hanging, craving for more.
Structurally, “nothing more to tell” begins with a couple of third person narratives, first Vincent himself, then Bob & Jill Regan grieving over the loss of their son who ran into the incoming path of Vincent’s Buick, and finally the first person narrative of Sherriff Parsons. The story is masterfully done, the POV shifts smooth and credible, and the ending is well worth the purchase of the book.
I’d like to tell you more, and there is more to tell, but since I’m living out of boxes and sneaking internet from fast food chains and coffee shops, I've decided to end my review now. But hey, there are eight more wonderful stories in this collection worth reading. I strongly recommend “nothing more to tell.” For more information, click here: www.mayapplepress.com .
Pictured from left to right: JR & George