A previous comment that referred to this book as the last before McHale’s suicide is incorrect. He published two books after thus one. However, I fail to see what that trivia (correct or incorrect) has to do with the quality of the book.
The book is oddly dated (1976). In at least two places, a character mentions “pot”, and another character says “You mean marijuana?” Amusing once? Sure. Twice? Now he’s being ironic, only 40 years before his time.
The book moves along, but the motivations of the characters strains credulity. Perhaps that’s part of the “black humor” that this is said to be an example of.
Tom McHale's first two novels, Principato and Farragan's Retreat, are among the great forgotten novels of the 1970s. This, his last book before his suicide, however, rare rises above the level of bad Playboy short stories. For a bunch of people who supposedly have not seen each other in years, the characters seem to spend much of their time phoning or sleeping with each other, and the protagonist, a coach who journeys back across the country to come to grips with a murder he tacitly enabled, is no more believable. Save your time. Read something else.