“It had been a joke, another Dalziel story to tell old friends, but Pascoe had since realized what he recognized once more now as he looked around this smoke-filled room with its gaudy vinyl wallpaper, its formica tables and stackable chairs, its shouted conversations and screeched amusement, its pints of bitter and port and lemons–that some catch of self-awareness in him could never be released sufficiently to let him plunge without restraint into these less than Byzantine pleasures. It wasn’t just the natural watchfulness which becomes second nature to most detectives. It was a need to assess before experiencing. It was a distrust of the commonality of pleasure. It was a sense of the cry of bewilderment in human laughter. Above all, it was a longing for joy and a fear of being duped and debased by some shoddy substitute.”
Reginald Hill, A Pinch of Snuff (courtesy of Mrs. T)
Terry Teachout on the arts in New York City
An ArtsJournal Blog