William Eastlake was a well-regarded novelist in the 60's who seems to be all but forgotten these days. Here in his last book, he has turned out some well-wrought charming little stories about an American tourist couple, Eastlake and his wife, in North Africa and Spain. These stories are quirky, sometimes veering into the cartoonish, but still firmly rooted in the reality of the culture. Plenty of local color. Plenty of characters with a capital C. For the writer, one can learn quite a few tricks of the trade in these pages. Unfortunately the book was produced in a limited edition of 500 copies, but still affordable thru secondary markets.
Blurring the line between fiction and travelogue isn't a new idea - viz Mandeville, or Sterne's Sentimental Journey. But I don't think it's ever been done as naturally as in these eight pieces by Eastlake, split equally between Morocco and Spain. His trademark ping-pong dialogue is here, although not so much as in his straight fiction, and Eastlake the traveler shows the same detached curiosity, with moments of brilliant engagement, as the protagonists of his novels. His style is simply unique, I'm running out of books by him, and that makes me sad.