When I read the synopsis of this book, it seemed like an intriguing odyssey through the bewildering and often grotesque landscape of modern America. It may be the greatest disappointment I can remember reading in the past decade. Askt's pedestrian prose style and wearily-paced plotting managed to make even as sure-fire a sequence as a gangland slaying seem tiresome, while the lovingly-detailed descriptions of every meal the obese protagonist eats become numbingly repetitious and dull. Burl himself is so wretchedly unappealing a character that it seems a penance to have to spend so much time with him (and he appears on virtually every page except for the rare merciful interludes devoted to his detective friend, who appears inexplicably interested in finding the missing Burl after he goes off on his secret cross-country journey. Most people, finding that someone as needy and self-indulgent as Burl had dropped out of their lives, would heave a sigh of relief and just hope that he never reappeared). Gluttony is, of course, one of the seven deadly sins, and Askt has performed the rare feat of making sin seem neither wicked nor intriguing -- simply boring.

I've read this book several times and with each rereading find more to admire. It's rare to find a work that is at once original, erudite and unceasingly entertaining. It succeeds on several levels -- as a contemporary allegory, as a character study of the intelligent, funny and tormented-by-his-bulk Burl, and as a rollicking great yarn. Burl's enormous appetite is a terrific metaphor of our consumer society; his journeys through a hilariously gothic America and his virtual death and resurrection are the stuff of great literature.

I selected this book from the library shelf based on its intriguing cover. I read the first couple of pages right there, and was hooked. This is one of those rare books I shall remember all my life, as Burl was so real, quirly and loveable, and his life and views so fascinating, that I was sorry to finish and say goodbye to a new-found friend. Daniel Akst's language is a joy to read, his erudition impressive, and his wit absolutely beguiling.

Worst book I've read all year (this is being written in late November) and strong contender for worst book of the decade. Flat, leaden, dull prose. Cardboard characters with no depth. Silly little trivial asides. No sense whatever of plotting, timing or narrative. The author uses a true story from the pages of the Wall Street Journal as the basis for this book, but does not realize that he still has an obligation to write well and make the characters come alive -- you can't hang your words on an extoskeleton; the book has to have internal structure. The ending is farcial, and the subplot conflict between father and son is a genuine embarassment to read. Avoid at all costs. I want my money back!!

In just his second novel, Daniel Akst has certainly grasped a level of cynicism that nearly overshadows a brilliant book about the loss of innocence in small-town America.

Akst's The Webster Chronicle captures a town in termoil after an allegation of spanking at a local day care evolves into a national drama with the town's newspaper editor at the center of it all.

Akst weaves the plot and characters so deftly as to marvel at his level of craftsmanship. But in the midst of a thought-provoking tale, he defaces any and all societal institutions, including a tabloid media, religion, government, the justice system and corporate America, which leaves the reader with a sour taste.

With so many integral parts to the puzzle, the message is so muddled and gets lost in a maze that eventually reaches a lousy ending in the final two pages.

While Terry Mathers, Akst's complex and pot-smoking protagonist, eventually reaches an obvious epiphany, the fate Akst's creates for him is so far from what anyone might expect, particulary his final career and relationship destinations. Mathers, like his father and his wife, end the novel with no redeeming qualities.

But that is Akst's ultimate goal and message. In a complex and inter-connected world, nothing and no one are as innocent as they appear.

Daniel Akst takes his readers into the small town of Webster, where Terry Mathers and his estranged wife Abigail run the weekly newspaper, The Webster Chronicle, in a time of change. The local department store is embroiled in a takeover bid that threatens the downtown as Webster knows it (no matter that most people shop at the mall), and the Alphabet Soup preschool is so popular that they admit children on a competitive basis (even though it is used primarily for day-care and not academic enrichment.) Single parenthood is on the rise. In this environment, the stage is set for an unknowning reenactment of the Salem witch trials: a drunken, bereaved mother shouts out a single, misunderstood accusation, and the town is forever changed by hysteria.

Akst is best here when he explores Webster through the eyes of Terry Mathers, the stuttering, struggling, editor who feels that he will always be living in the shadow of his father, a well-known newscaster. Emily,the owner of the preschool who is accused of child abuse, also has a compelling perspective, but some of the others water down the central thrust of the novel. Akst, in his attempt to fully explore the issues, spreads himself too thin, sometimes glossing over areas he has carefully introduced, other times concentrating on a minor aspect. However, the quality of the writing carries this story through its weaknesses with aplomb.

Although THE WEBSTER CHRONICLE does not have the emotional energy of Akst's debut, ST. BURL'S OBITUARY, it does have the mark of a maturing novelist. Akst is a literary talent to watch.

I recommend this book for readers of literary fiction as well as for those interested in issues of small town America, false memories, child abuse, and mass hysteria.