It’s funny reading descriptions of Alexander Trocchi’s final novel, Cain’s Book. For the most part, the writer, a heroin devotee, is couched in terms of existential uncaring and set in a line with Albert Camus and any number of other beats.
What separate’s Trocchi from his American brethren is admittedly his uncaring about pretty much everything apart from how to get high. But in Cain’s Book, that flippant perspective on life is related in some of the most poetic language possible. Granted, the subject matter and the resultant physical toll is apparent at times as Trocchi’s prose moves in and out of this flowery language. But the writer does maintain a rather concerted tone throughout the entirety of the work.