I have always had a distaste for the car culture. I cannot stand NASCAR. I think street racing is natural selection at its best. I haven't watched a Formula 1 race since the untimely demise of Ayrton Senna. "Working on a car" is a concept utterly alien to me, and I prefer it stay that way.
Yet I was so completely enthralled by Mr. Roy's fascinating account of high-speed adventures and mischief, that I found myself finishing the book in 2 nights. And though, as other reviewers note, the narrative is disjointed at times, it does not seem to significantly detract from the story. If anything, it suits the subject matter. Whatever stylistic inadequacies a discerning reader may come across are minor and easily overlooked, considering that The Driver is not meant to be literary writing.
Of particular interest to many will be the author's detailed description of the impressive array of countermeasures he and his copilots employ to avoid detection and likely incarceration by law enforcement, ranging from doughnuts and sex dolls to thermal imaging and... spotter planes. Herr Roy's appreciation for the more absurd kind of humor - the best sort - is evident throughout the book, the pranks are hilarious, the cheerful disregard for authority is, yes, admirable, and the self-depreciating tone is refreshing. Hunter S. Thompson would approve.
The Driver, though it never touches on the subject, may cause the reader to examine what it is that drives people like Alexander Roy and simple average drivers to desire for speed. I'm not sure I can explain or formulate it. But if you are a man, and driving is more to you than merely traveling from point A to point B, this book is a must read.
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