Chowder is no prose stylist, and his plot seems almost to come as a surprise to him (and not in a good way, believe me). His characters are plain, and actually somewhat likable in that way, but neither this nor his third novel is in any way genuinely distinguished. Perhaps he will eventually do something interesting, though.

The chapters of this book read like a series of clues to one single essential secret; a plot that doubles back on itself, to finally reach the present, and present an epiphany of love and understanding. The best book I've read in years.

What is amazing is that this novel, a marvel of style and construction, is not better known. The novel consists of three "intimate biographies": the members of a love triangle each write the life story of one of the others. As they write, the incidents that happen in the present inform the narrative. Each of the characters has a distinctive style and presence: the artist writes a biography of his lover, and the names in his narrative are all drawn from art history; the novelist (a VIrginia Woolf fan) writes a biography of one of her two lovers, and all the names come from the Bloomsbury group; and the names of the three characters themselves (Rice, Evan and Carolyn) are without doubt drawn from the famous Red Sox outfield of the late 70s, Rice, Evans, and Lynn. The book is both a marvelous puzzle and a marvel of the heart. The wonder is that such a book can disappear between the cracks of culture. Don't miss this one.