Little America by Rob Swigart

Little America (copyright 1977) is a bit like Chaucer’s Miller’s tale on steroids. Its deliberate architecture has more words (grouped in short bursts; 100 chapters of 2-3 pages), more raunch, more characters, more storylines, and an Oedipal complex or two thrown in for good measure, all weaving together toward a surprisingly tame climax—yes, I used “climax”—compared to the outrageousness of the rest of the book. Of course, while the miller tells his tale as a diversion during a journey to the shrine of Sir Thomas Becket, Swigart’s story includes the journey itself, to Little America, Wyoming, “the largest service station in the world,” where one can find food and gas, and maybe sex in an Airstream trailer and a small atomic bomb. I gave it three out of five stars, and I don't recommend it for those put off by sexually explicit content.