On a recent West Coast trip, I discovered this thick paperback in the local authors display at Laguna Beach Books. The blurb on the back cover promised it would be “beautiful, heartbreaking, and relentlessly compelling from beginning to end.” So I busted through American Airlines’ checked bag weight limits to bring it home with me to New Jersey. It took me a few weeks to read all 767 pages, with points off for flowery/overwritten prose throughout (no one in LA has ever been purloined, Ben, they were robbed!), but the story did not disappoint. Howard Englander keeps us turning pages across two decades, multiple locations (drawing upon his memories of Berkeley, Los Angeles, New York City and Maine), and intricate relationships among an interesting cast of characters. As an aspiring memoir/autofiction writer, I’m impressed with the 93-year-old author’s perseverance over the 16 years it took him to write, edit and self-publish his first novel. I only regret that I didn’t get an autographed copy.