I wanted to like this book, at first I almost did. But then I really didn't. The story rotated chapters between Willie Shakespeare Greenberg, 1980-something, and William Shakespeare, circa 1580; as the story progressed, Willie's tale began to widely detract from what could have been a pretty decent story about the original Shakespeare, a young, 18 year old Bard. Largely filled with sex and drugs (which normally I'm all about in a fun read), Willie Greenberg's story was one I just didn't care about. I didn't feel sorry for this wannabe academic, or whether or not he could come up with a convincing thesis topic before his dad cuts him off financially. Or whether he'd unload a massive 'shroom and a pound of pot at a weird nerd rave Renaissance Faire without getting snitched on by Reagan narcs. Or that his sometimes girlfriend at Berkley wanted to grab sushi, but he only had 6 bucks to his name. It simply wasn't compelling, and the numerous fucks-on the bus, with two girls, in the ass, at an orgy, in a dream.... the only image these scenes conjured in my mind was of a horny author getting his rocks off at the keyboard for a minute. It just didn't seem at all necessary.
But then there were Shakespeare's chapters, the real Shakespeare, the Bard. And those had promise. Those chapters showed an author who, with a little work, could be pretty good. Winfield is obviously very familiar with Shakespeare, his works and his life, and even though the particular tale was historically inaccurate (he admits this at the end of the book: a few historical facts were tweaked in the making of this novel), it was well-written and well-paced throughout. There were only a few odd, superfluous sex scenes in the young Shakespeare tale; the most bizarre involving Shakespeare, a witch, a broom handle and a lube decoction made from 'shrooms. It was...an interesting image of the great Bard, to say the least. Otherwise, the story of Shakespeare as a closet Catholic tormented by a group of the Earl of Leicester's men appointed with the task of eradicating all practitioner's of the Old Faith after Henry VIII's creation of the Anglican Church, was entertaining to read. It was the intertwining with Willie's quest to deliver the shrooms that took away from this better written story. I understood what the author was trying to accomplish by mirroring the lives of these two Shakespeares, separated in life by hundreds of years, but only by a chapter in the book, however; mirroring the persecution of the Catholics against Reagan's War on Drugs was a weakly realized comparison. There could have been something there, but once again the author made it too juvenile to work.
All in all, unimpressed.