This book was a huge disappointment. The plot--a young 19th century attorney investigates the mysterious death of Edgar Allan Poe--seemed promising, but was not nearly as interesting as I'd hoped. I attribute this to two failings: failure to create likeable characters, and failure to adhere to the adage "brevity is the soul of wit."

On the first count: the protagonist, Quentin Clark, is childish and insipid. He's an irritating hero, but what's worse is that he isn't a hero who moves the plot forward. The action is either effected by someone else or happened upon by Clark accidentally. It's also difficult to take him seriously because of his blind, obsessive Poe-worship (which occasionally reads more like the author's, making it just plain awkward). As for the other characters, they all represent archetypes: reserved but brilliant detective, beautiful femme fatale, proper young woman, conniving villain, etc. etc. Now, these archetypes become archetypes because they work, certainly; but it's amazing that these characters are so glancingly treated that they aren't developed further than that in the span of nearly 400 pages.

That brings me to the second count. The book was far too long--especially the long-awaited explication of Poe's death. It was so drawn out that reading it became tedious and I no longer cared about it. I just wanted to get through it. Poe's detective stories were short stories, something Pearl would have done well to remember. As Shakespeare said, brevity is the soul of wit. Dragging out a joke ruins the punchline, and grandstanding with a dénouement is just annoying.

Because of these things (and a few other minor annoyances, like the truly sad attempt at emulating 19th century voice), I ceased to enjoy this book after about the second page. I finished it merely as a matter of principle, and do not recommend it for anyone.