Magic

by William Goldman

I picked this up at a library sale, thinking it was related to the ’70s movie (which I haven’t seen) about a ventriloquist dummy run amok, and was surprised that the dummy doesn’t show up in the book till the end of act I. (I don’t know, I guess I just figured the dummy would be front-and-center right off the bat.)

Anyway, it is the basis for the Richard Attenborough movie with Anthony Hopkins, Ann-Margret and Burgess Meredith, which performed modestly at the box office and didn’t make much of a splash in the year that had GreaseSuperman and Halloween.

Oh, the book? It’s fine. Goldman can write. He can construct characters and a story. It’s a fairly breezy read. Cynical as all get out. The stinger is gratuitously cynical, I think, and very ’70s.

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