A comic masterpiece by the author of Miriam at Thirty-four follows a washed-up writer on a journey to discover the truth behind the legendary facade of one of America's literary giants.
This was awful. So awful, in fact, I had forgotten that I read it over ten years ago because I had blocked it from my memory. It's terrible. Unsympathetic characters, shiteous writing, a poorly crafted plot, and nothing that actually drives the plot, save for a bombastic subject whose self-aggrandizing made me want to find him and run him down with my car. I have never been so mad at myself for reading a book. Don't start it and assume it will get better. It won't.