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When a book starts with a line which is immediately reminiscent of Infinite Jest, then it’s alright to have some unrestrained expectations from it.

They can kill you, but they can’t eat you.

But with Hard Rain Falling I had to keep a lot many things in mind before letting my expectations go out of hand and to eventually give what I may immodestly pronounce as a fair reaction. The fact that this book was written in 1960’s was something I constantly reminded myself. It helped when I came across lines like: Nobody ever escaped from The Rock. Sean Connery? I digressed and I had to Focus. This went on for almost halfway through the novel because I was coming across one thing or the other I have either read or seen before. So what kept me going? Don Carpenter’s writing is one of the most honest narrative voices I have ever come across. There’s almost a childlike innocence in his account of some of the events that I even let out a corny awww on certain occasions.

This book is all Americana and a little more. It has orphanages, reform homes and Jack Levitt. It has pool-halls, runaway children and Billy Lancing. It has petty crimes, prisons, paroling and philosophy. And since it’s so huge in scope, the elements within are described in moderation. Nothing is over the top, nothing is under the bottom. Everything is there and that’s it. Except one or two instances, this novel failed to excite me as a reader. It takes a long straight road stretching over a period of three decades, hardly takes any interesting turns and the episodic stops at the road side joints a.k.a philosophizing usually serves the same old existential food. It’s like watching a documentary where the chronicles of a lonely person moves you in some inexplicable way but the same when written on a piece of paper doesn’t deliver the same kind of impact. But I better give this book its due where it deserves. The scenes dealing with homosexuality are handled beautifully and if nothing else this book can be read for that part only. The internal monologues are good, again thanks to the honesty of Don’s writing but at times most of the things read like the paraphrasing of the same ideas.

So what was his life? Look out there at all the ten million things life can be, and tell yourself which are yours, and which you will never do. And there was the agony of it; so much he wanted to do, and so little he could do.

The above sentence sums the whole book pretty well. Just replace few words with freedom, sex and money. Considering it was Don’s debut novel evoked some sensitivity in me but I’m afraid it doesn’t seem to have the power to leave an ever lasting impression.

3 Stars averaging out on I really liked it, I liked it and It was Ok because the rain must be falling hard but all I felt was a mild drizzle.