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Relieved to be done with this one. Sheesh. Tom Robbins does not age well. His brilliant literary skill is overshadowed by his persistent misogyny and tired monologues on “philosophy.” Every male character in this book reads as just another vessel through which he pontificates ad nauseum about the nature of the human condition. If this book were a person, it’d be a disheveled middle-aged white man with a perverse fascination of underage girls, bestiality and Asian culture.