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Review title: Is this really a McMurtry book?
Product review: Jaw-droppingly, stunningly, unbelievably bad. McMurtry is one of the nation's greatest writers, a born storyteller with a knack for quirky characters and above all else, a deep and abiding sympathy for people, regardless of their flaws and missteps. But this book displays none of those gifts -- in fact, it reads like a mean-spirited parody of McMurtry. A few characters are flat-out cliches and stereotypes -- something almost never encountered in a McMurtry book -- while the others are grating collections of a few endlessly recycled tics. The plot, such as it is, veers randomly between dull and meandering and simply unbelievable. This is a sequel to The Desert Rose, which is one of McMurtry's decidedly lesser books, but compared to this one The Desert Rose feels like Terms of Endearment. Fifty years from now The Late Child will be the McMurtry book that only gets reprinted in a scholarly edition for completists.
