West of Rome's two novellas, "My Dog Stupid" and "The Orgy," fulfill the promise of their rousing titles. The latter novella opens with virtuoso description: "His name was Frank Gagliano, and he did not believe in God. He was that most singular and startling craftsman of the building trade-a left-handed bricklayer. Like my father, Frank came from Torcella Peligna, a cliff-hugging town in the Abruzzi. Lean as a spider, he wore a leather cap and puttees the year around, and he was so bowlegged a dog could lope between his knees without touching them."
West of Rome's two novellas, My Dog Stupid and The Orgy, fulfill the promise of their rousing titles. The latter novella opens with virtuoso description: His name was Frank Gagliano, and he did not believe in God. He was that most singular and startling craftsman of the building trade-a left-handed bricklayer. Like my father, Frank came from Torcella Peligna, a cliff-hugging town in the Abruzzi. Lean as a spider, he wore a leather cap and puttees the year around, and he was so bowlegged a dog could lope between his knees without touching them.
West of Rome's two novellas, My Dog Stupid and The Orgy, fulfill the promise of their rousing titles. The latter novella opens with virtuoso description: His name was Frank Gagliano, and he did not believe in God. He was that most singular and startling craftsman of the building trade-a left-handed bricklayer. Like my father, Frank came from Torcella Peligna, a cliff-hugging town in the Abruzzi. Lean as a spider, he wore a leather cap and puttees the year around, and he was so bowlegged a dog could lope between his knees without touching them.
West of Rome's two novellas, My Dog Stupid and The Orgy, fulfill the promise of their rousing titles. The latter novella opens with virtuoso description: His name was Frank Gagliano, and he did not believe in God. He was that most singular and startling craftsman of the building trade-a left-handed bricklayer. Like my father, Frank came from Torcella Peligna, a cliff-hugging town in the Abruzzi. Lean as a spider, he wore a leather cap and puttees the year around, and he was so bowlegged a dog could lope between his knees without touching them.
West of Rome's two novellas, My Dog Stupid and The Orgy, fulfill the promise of their rousing titles. The latter novella opens with virtuoso description: His name was Frank Gagliano, and he did not believe in God. He was that most singular and startling craftsman of the buildin