I’ve long been a fan of escapist entertainment, never more so than in these deeply troubling times. So I was delighted to learn about–and read–Last Night at the Disco, a rollicking and hilarious thrill trip helmed by anti-hero extraordinaire Lynda Boyle. Lynda’s core desire is to leave her New Jersey hometown behind for good and to escape once and for all to New York City. She imagines that, once there, she’ll assume a central place in the East Village poetry scene and party for as many nights as she’d like at her beloved celebrity-magnet disco, Studio 54. These dreams are exceeded only by the size of Lynda’s ego, which is in constant need of feeding.
Although this novel, told entirely from Lynda’s point of view, delivers much-needed escapism, its pleasures are far from simple thanks to its insider perspective on her constant, and often brilliant, scheming. To say that she’s a beauty with brains is a gross understatement. It would be more accurate to say that she’s a beauty with war-room-level strategizing powers, and she deploys these powers ruthlessly.