“Love And Theft” Is A Seedy Kaleidoscopic Dreamscape Of A Novel

Stan Parish’s latest is a dazzling story of a man trying to exit the heist business

“We don’t really talk about it. Even when I was little I could tell she didn’t want to. They met at a restaurant, had a one-night stand. What’s she gonna tell me? That he snores? That he tips well?”
“You never wondered?”
“Not really.”
“Are you lying to me or to yourself?”
Tom laughs. “You read minds now?”
“It’s in your face. You’re high as shit and you can’t admit you want to know more? If you can’t admit that to me — hey, no problem. We just met. But admit that to yourself.”
“Okay,” he says. “I can admit that. I still don’t think it matters.”
“No, you’re right about that. It won’t change anything. At some point you have to figure out who you want to be no matter who they are. Or were. And the knowledge doesn’t always help, believe me. Hey, I can’t stand out here. Can you carry me?”

The unbearable weight of family is not an uncommon theme in crime entertainment — see a solid, oh, 70% of every gangster film ever made — but in Stan Parish’s luminous (yeah, I said it! It’s luminous) heist novel, Love and Theft, that theme is polished to a gleaming, glittering sheen and presented to the reader in a crisp 272 pages. It’s been months since I’ve stayed up late to finish a novel, but that’s what I did last night with Love and Theft, and…