In Last Comes the Egg, Duffy manages the incredible. Here is an American novel that brings into uncanny focus the mysteries of life, death and the lunar weirdness of adults - all as seen through the x-ray eyes of a kid. The kid's name is Frank Dougherty, and when he's twelve his extravagant mother fails him in the most profound way possible: she dies. In her wake, she leaves a new T-Bird his family can't afford and a host of troubling questions. Yet perversely, Frank feels more alive than ever. And, in all innocence, he fights back. Frank's father - as gravely wounded as his son and facing bankruptcy - is worse than no help. Soon, Dad's infatuated with a blonde who threatens to become Frank's anti-mother. Then Frank meets two other lost kids, one white, one black. The white kid, Alvy Loomis, is a bigoted, badass Star Scout, a master manipulator unsure of his parentage. The black kid, Sheppy Dwyer, is a fifteen-year-old orphan who figures he's thirty in "white boy years.". The three steal a car and take off south. It's the early sixties, the days of the Freedom Riders. Alvy's after his mother, Frank's fleeing wedding bells and Sheppy's pursuing ghosts. For most of us it takes a lifetime to finally break the egg of childhood. These kids can't wait.