Leo@fergusrules.com is a wonderfully rich and absorbing fable,sharply defined with an edge of modern technology. It's rare that a book can satisfy both my imagination and my intelligence to such a great degree. Arne Tangherlini's heroine, Leo, appealed to me in every way. She's fiery, defiant, brilliant and hilarious all at the same time, and her heart is as huge and beautiful as the tapestry of scenes through which you follow her on her journey. Don't miss this book.

This book is brilliantly witty-the first page I laughed twice-and the first chapter sticks in one's mind for its beautiful imagery (Leo describing her relationship with Bri) and Leo's sharp and amusing asides. The ending is surprising in its abruptness-it leaves the reader feeling slightly cheated, but this is a memorable story, well worth the read, and I'll be surprised if you don't go back with Leo to Apeiron often.

Italian cusine is known and appreciated around the world. Much has been said to account for its success: tradition, ingredients, a people's flair for the good life. But Italian cuisine is above all simple. The best pizza is made of only seven ingredients: what makes a margherita delicious is the delicate balance of its primal flavours, the feel of the cook while kneading the dough, and a sense of timing with the oven. Leo@fergusrules.com is not a pizza margherita; the dish it comes closest to is minestrone. Minestrone is a soup made with at least ten kinds of vegetable. What counts is that you use vegetables that are in season and go well together. So, minestrone is the most anarchic of plates: you can invent your own recipe on a whim. Yet, anarchy does not lead to chaos if you know how to keep it simple. Why is this book a literary minestrone? Because of the right ingredients, simplicity, that undefinable feel and controlled anarchy. Ingredients first: when you read Leo@fergusrules.com, your palate will detect Dante's Inferno, J.L. Borges's fictions, Umberto Eco's first novel, historical reports on the American occupation of the Philippines, a pinch of Greek mithology, Philippine folktales and a generous dollop of Alice in Wonderland. Mr. Tangherlini also added less high-brow condiments: cyberspace, TV series, videogames, the atrocious discourse of education 'experts,' and the sub-culture of shopping malls. This is a large enough number of ingredients and, given the peculiar way time moves in the realm of the letters, they are all in season. You have to be a pretty daring cook to try and blend Dante with starship Enterprise, but the author has courage enough to feed a batallion. This is how he did it: he took the Divine Comedy and simmered it in post-modern oil. Thus, the medieval poem became the main ingredient, the root taste to which all the others would be grafted upon. The other ingredients were added on the soffritto, one by one, in good order, paying attention to the cooking time of each. A fourteen-year-old heroine called Leo embarks on a journey through cyberspace with Fra Umberto as her guide. She soon finds herself in cyber-hell, one that is not dug through the Earth crust, but is a portion of virtual reality. During her trip, Leo encounters--among others--classmates, teachers, relatives and ancestors from her manifold genealogy, murderous Barbie dolls and a crowd of her own selves, each coming from different moments in the past. How did Mr. Tangherlini keep the book simple? He made it a 'close work;' a choice that would have made Mr. Alighieri happy. And this is a scandal, because today's novels are supposed to be 'open works.' Leo@fergusrules.com breaks away from this modern tradition in search of an exciting, inventive recipe. Leo can go through her amazing adventures with all the ease afforded by narrative solutions that are seven centuries old. Citations from the Inferno are so many that you end up expecting them as you proceed through the text. And when they actually turn up, they have the same soothing effect of a recurring line in a lullaby. But the surest sign that Leo@fergusrules.com is a close work comes from its poetics. Metaphors are few and far between in Mr. Tangherlini's novel, which is based on allegory instead. Allegory admits only one correct interpretation: Fra Umberto, for instance, can only be Umberto Eco because--among other things--he introduces himself as a native of Alessandria, which is Mr. Eco's hometown. Close figures are simple and fun because they provide intellectual challenge and a sure reward if you rise to meet it. A few random examples of them from the novel: why is the last monster Leo meets in her journey a dog with three heads? Why does "Like a flock of sparrows blown by the wind..." sound familiar? What battle is the "massacre on the bridge" that Leo's grandmother's grandmother--a Filipina--survived? Why is cyber-hell called Dlön and "one of the best commercial environments" Uqbar? The choice of analogy over metaphor and the reliance on a narrative structure that has charmed the world since the Middle Ages give Leo@fergusrules.com the architecture required to support a multitude of characters, a rapid-fire sequence of vicissitudes, and a breathless narrative pace. This is why this novel is an excellent minestrone: the ingredients are in season and harmonious; the recipe original and simple; the preparation expert and well timed. Serve warm--not hot--and sprinkle with a tablespoon of grated Parmesan cheese.

The Cape Cod Years of John Fitzgerald Kennedy is an interesting narrative of the time President Kennedy spent on Cape Cod. Neither particularly critical nor laudatory, the book presents both an insight into life at the Kennedy compound and on the Cape in general. For a visitor to Cape Cod, this book presents a view into the life of the summer residents of the Cape during the twenties to the sixties. It also provides details of the life of John F. Kennedy and his father, Joseph, which may easily be overlooked by one who studies only the Presidential years. This book is to be recommended to anyone with an interest in the personal and political lives of Joseph and John Kennedy as well as to anyone with an interest in Cape Cod

The Cape Cod Years of John Fitzgerald Kennedy is an interesting narrative of the time President Kennedy spent on Cape Cod. Neither particularly critical nor laudatory, the book presents both an insight into life at the Kennedy compound and on the Cape in general. For a visitor to Cape Cod, this book presents a view into the life of the summer residents of the Cape during the twenties to the sixties. It also provides details of the life of John F. Kennedy and his father, Joseph, which may easily be overlooked by one who studies only the Presidential years. This book is to be recommended to anyone with an interest in the personal and political lives of Joseph and John Kennedy as well as to anyone with an interest in Cape Cod.

I was very disappointed with this book. Let's start with what most know about the Chappaquiddick incident before they read this book: Ted Kennedy was at a regatta near Chappy; he probably had too much to drink; he went to a party with former employees of his brother Bobby; he left with Mary Jo Kopechne; he drove off a bridge; he survived; she died; he delayed reporting the accident; he wasn't forthcoming about what happened; the police and the prosecutors were ineffective; Ted Kennedy's national political aspirations ended. After struggling through approximately four hundred pages of sometimes repetitive reading, that's all I still know. If you want to read a book this long to come away with very little insight into what caused the accident, you've come to the right place.

You can breeze through this book in under an hour -- I just did. While it makes for a suspenseful, albeit entertaining, account of what happened that infamous night, Damore relies too heavily on witnesses' accounts and police remarks (often little more than Kennedy bashing). By now, most of us can accept the facts: that EMK drank way too much and drove off a bridge, subsequently leading to tragedy. DUI accidents happen every day, chillingly often to average people. The fact that this happened to one of the greatest Senators in the history of the United States only reaffirms this. ...

Teddy Kennedy went to a party attended by Mary Jo Kopechne. He got sloshed as usual. He drove off a bridge in bad weather thereby inadvertently causing the death of Ms. Kopechne. Sounds like a good case for involuntary manslaughter - that is, unless you are a Kennedy. This book, while providing nothing new, offers a great overview of the Chappaquiddick tragedy. Those desiring truthful books about the Kennedy scourge should definitely add this one to your burgeoning collection. Intelligent, logical readers will be incredulous that Kennedy escaped prosecution. He delayed reporting the accident for hours - went to his hotel, cleaned up a bit, chatted with confidants about how to handle the matter and THEN called the authorities. It is astounding that, even as Mary Jo Kopechne sat drowning in his car, Kennedy would be bent on protecting his political hide. What is even more disturbing is the number of reviews trying to pan this book as "Kennedy bashing". A few reviews, out of misguided devotion to this errant family, simply absolve Teddy of all guilt. After all, it was JUST a drunk driving accident - one that deprived a family of their daughter forever. But since Teddy was involved, it never happened...right?