This review is not based on the ideas regarding past-life regression and rebirth presented in this book (which I eagerly opened as a book club selection) but about the quality of the book itself.
I hoped for a well-written, engaging, and lively story about history, psychology, and paranormal encounters. Instead, I read the stuffy memoir of a man struggling to overcome his prejudices toward unconventional ideas and the people who believe in them. After undergoing hypnosis, Indianapolis Police Department Captain Robert L. Snow sees what his psychologist believes are memories from his past lives. He sets out to disprove the memories of one past life in particular, that of the turn-of-the-century American painter J. Carroll Beckwith, but as evidence stacks up, he finally concludes the memories are real. He believes he once lived his life as Beckwith, and this book is the narrative of his gathering proof.
Throughout the book, Snow constantly reiterates his doubt and skepticism and his status as a law-enforcement officer in rambling paragraphs; in doing so, he attempts to prove his sanity and rational thinking so that the reader will trust him. Instead, he comes across as cocky and belittling. Even after stating that he believes he has proven he is Beckwith reborn, Snow remains dismissive of people and things he does not understand. He calls Impressionist painting and free-verse poetry “an attempt to create art without the hard work.” He questions the “mental status” of other people who believe in past-life regression, holding firm that they must be “strange” or even “crackpots” and is surprised when he meets “rational” believers instead. Perhaps most surprisingly, he is even dismissive toward Beckwith. He describes this award-winning painter who exhibited his work in major US and European cities and studied with some of the best American artists of the time—not to mention was a devoted husband—as someone who “never did anything really important in his life.”
The writing in general, while lively in the first third of the book, becomes increasingly dull as Snow repeats the same thoughts, internal struggles, and facts about his case. He explains irrelevant points in great detail. The library slips he filled out, that he thought a short walk to the library would be a long one, that he didn't know how much information was on a microfilm spool but then he found out when he loaded the first spool: these insignificant descriptions distract from the narrative and slow the pace of the book.
At the end, Snow attempts to find meaning in his discovery; if only he had found a lesson about trivializing things he doesn't understand, and realizing that, even as a successful metropolitan police captain, he, like all of us, still has a lot to learn about life—whether this one or any other.