Two guys are sitting on a porch talking. Their conversation wanders among many subjects. This novel is supposed to be a take-off on “Waiting for Godot.” I don’t know why “Waiting for Godot” needs a take-off. It’s sort of a take-off of itself.
I don’t know what the James Tait Black judges were thinking. A parody like this is funny for about two pages, not an entire book.