Written from the shore of sanity, the book dives fearlessly back into the Rimbaudian hells and the Blakean ecstasies and brings back what is almost the account of the '60s we so long bemoaned the lack of. I say "almost" because the '60s were as unique as fingerprints when you fail to describe them, but as communal as a sauna when you recall. Joel Agee writes uniquely, succeeds communally, and leaves the mystery still calling.
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