each paragraph—that is the burden of fiction composed of random events and happenings in a more or less plotless sequence. Speedboat is very clear about the measure of events and anecdotes and indeed it does meet the demand for the interesting in a nervous, rapid, remarkably gifted manner. A precocious alertness to incongruity: this one would have to say is the dominating trait of the character of the narrator, the only character in the book. Perception, then, does the work of feeling and is also the main action. It stands there alone, displacing even temperament.

For the reader of Speedboat, certain things may be lacking, especially a suggestion of turbulence and of disorder more savage than incongruity can accommodate. But even if feeling is not solicited, randomness itself is a carrier of disturbing emotions. In the end perhaps a flow is more painful than a circle [that is, a standard plot], which at least encloses the self in its resolutions, retributions, and decisions.