*** Don't Point That Thing At Me, Kyril Bonfiglioli, 1972
Another in the series of books sent to me by The Learned One. Imagine if PG Wodehouse wrote about a corrupt art dealer in London in the 1970s, with raw stuff like torture and assassination and sex scenes, but all in the flippant Bertie Wooster tone. Only also imagine that Wodehouse lost all his complex story construction skills and instead things just kind of happened as they went along.
That would be Don't Point That Thing At Me. Clever writing, amusing voice, train-wreck of a story. The ending suddenly changes tone, gets very serious and brutally realistic and then disintegrates into delirium. Very strange.
Worth reading, but not for the prudish.