Or was she looking through me?" (Nah, she was probably just looking at you, mate.) Sometimes the italics seem forlornly to be trying to elevate a sentence from a kind of bland incompetence to a more baroque awfulness: " That was women for you – always morphing." (Here Scott has not encountered an actual morphing woman, like the one in the film Species who turns into an alien, but just a woman who has changed her mind.)
Yet, I felt something else" (spoiler: it was another pocket.) He describes a woman "staring down at me. "I checked the inside pocket," he relates at one point. He is addicted to italics, which festoon the pages, straining to turn ordinary words into jolts of surprise and excitement. And for a once-successful magazine journalist, he's an alarmingly bad writer. On the basis of a single anonymous phone call he had once – on live TV – more or less accused Cordova of being a child-murderer, and was then surprised to find his life falling apart and the work drying up.
I say "hero", but Scott is plainly a bit of an idiot.
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