I kind of can't believe how much I enjoyed this book. Ostensibly 4 separate stories that never intersect, this epic novel uses these stories to tell us about the "real" Los Angeles, through the eyes of the immigrant in East LA; the very famous, closeted movie star; the wide-eyed Midwestern kids in Hollywood who never quite make it; and the ambling, discarded drunks of Venice. Interspersed, though, is a virtual cornucopia of Los Angeles trivia, random facts, and short, completely unrelated vignettes. This book is truly ABOUT Los Angeles more than anything else I've ever read. It ain't subtle, nor is it supposed to be.

Frey is a very unusual writer. I used to think he was terrible, but then about 200 pages into this book, I realized that I think he writes with a very deliberate, staccato style that comes across almost as long-form poetry. It's strange. He doesn't really use punctuation, and when he does it's very deliberat. It's dumb, maybe, but it works. what first appears to be haphazard and gimmicky, you soon come to realize serves a purpose, and is anything but random.

I am completely fascinated by Los Angeles. More than anything, this book evokes the mythology of that much maligned but still worshipped metropolis, and doesn't completely discard it. Frey wants to believe in that mythology as much as his characters do, and some of them find some small contentment or happiness, but never, predictably, where they're looking for it. Others get eaten alive. Nothing in this novel is particularly original or thought-provoking. But it does possess a strange, emotional power, and even at 500 pages long, is a bizarrely captivating and quick read. Perhaps a perfect Southern California summertime beach book.