On every page, my eye found beautiful phrases. Take this scene. A young Billy is travelling through Europe with his friend Raymond, an immoral, enigmatic young man. At a deserted lake in Italy, the find an old pedal boat and go out onto the lake. Raymond encourages him to swim, even though Billy isn't much of a swimmer. Once he is in the water, Raymond immediately pedals away from him.
Raymond was looking at him over his shoulder, but he was still pedalling.
"Please," Billy said. I'm not joking."
The water in front of him had a terrible blackness to it, and he couldn't allow himself to think about what might be under there, or how deep the lake might be. His chest had tightened: he couldn't breathe properly. He stopped trying to swim, but treading water felt worse. his saw his body dangling, as if from below. It was the point of view of something that lived on the bottom - or something thad had died.
His legs were moving in slow motion; they were slender, feeble, pale as roots.
Water poured into his mouth.
Gradually, the pedalo swung around until Raymond was facing him again, but Raymond's eyes had no light in them, no feeling. They looked flat, like bits of paper; if you poked one with a finger, it would tear, and there'd be nthing behind the hole, just darkness.
Full disclosure: That's the kind of thing I need to read more of. Reading this book, absorbing it, can't help but make you a better writer.