The wonderful lyrical passages, little observations or more expansive bits of fancy, were the best part of this book. The idea that these characters were romantic heroes in any way, as stated in the last scenes, did not resonate with me at all. The protagonist Dean just seemed like a 1960s version of a slacker, free of responsibility, bugging his family and friends for money to support his aimless life centered on lots of sex with his girlfriend. They drive around a lot, eat in restaurants, have a few quarrels, but never seem to mind that they don't have any real interests, just some vague ideas of marriage and settling down. I could guess from the start how likely that was going to turn out.
I'd read Salter's Solo Faces previously and while I had some problems with that novel, I think I prefer it to this earlier one, even though I think the author thought that this was the only one he considered a successful work.