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Title: A dreadful read
Review: I really enjoyed Bones of the Master, but I regret to say that this book is awful. It reads like a 16 year old's diary--unbearably self-centered and self-absorbed, given to inane philosophizing and adolescent romanticism. It is somewhat astonishing that a sixty-something year old man has managed to abide at such a stage of arrested development. He may have inadvertently succeeded in his quest for literary recognition by writing what will one day be considered the definitive document of baby boomer narcissism and selfishness. I suppose it was the presence of Tsung Tsai that made Bones of the Master engaging, because without it the author is adrift.
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