Brock Clarke's fifth book follows his critically acclaimed "An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England."

Here, Mr. Clarke follows in the footsteps of Frederick Exley, a cult favorite whose 1968 "fictional memoir," "A Fan's Notes," is the basis for this novel's structure as well as a major component of the plot.

Miller Le Ray, his charming and troubled boy character, tries to find his father, Tom Le Ray, (and save his parents' marriage) by turning to Exley, a renowned talker, drinker, smoker and cusser whose love for Watertown, N.Y., and the New York football Giants couldn't be topped. He's also dead.

Miller also depends on his somewhat unstable and unnamed psychiatrist to help him construct elaborate tales -- some truthful, some from fantastically made-up memories that explain his father's disappearance.

Ten-year-old Miller is a classic geek and loner, avid reader who's enrolled in eighth grade instead of fifth. The book is filled with his astute, pensive observations:

"... you need to say things simply, especially when they're complicated" or, "Sometimes how you say things matters more than what you say."

His love for his father intermingles with an unlikely love for Exley, whose work and ideas are quoted throughout. These Exley moments also give insight into the over-arching concepts and themes of the novel itself.

In a moment of revelation after reading "A Fan's Notes," the psychiatrist claims:

"If Exley's book has taught me something ... it's that we try, and fail, to fool ourselves into thinking we have the answers to life's most difficult questions. But if we omit the questions altogether, then perhaps the answers might not seem so foolish."

The relationships that we see form and break apart in this book are fascinating. I especially appreciated the mother, Carrie Le Ray, whose inner life unfolds through the exterior choices she makes in men.

The father, who keeps stacks of "A Fan's Notes" in a window seat and whose obsession with Exley brought him to Watertown to haunt the same bars where Exley himself had once held forth, is a character formed primarily through remembered stories.

Frederick Exley himself becomes a character through the psychiatrist who slowly takes on his persona the longer Miller guides his own therapy sessions.

The novel unfolds like a murder-mystery without a real murder, just realizations of who is alive and who is dead and why. It explores memory, pain, loss, love and longing with a fresh, lively structure and with a cast of characters both painfully charming and exquisitely flawed.

-- By Sherrie Flick
for the Post-Gazette

Frank Mackey, Tana French's 41-year-old hero, left the eponymous street in a Dublin slum, where had planned a new life in London with Rosie Daly, the most beautiful and intelligent girl in the neighborhood.

Then Rosie failed to show up for their escape and disappeared. That was 22 years ago and now Frank is an undercover Dublin police detective living a settled life. That changes when Rosie's body turns up near their old haunts.

The Dublin murder squad tells Frank to stay out of the case, but it's obvious that he won't and goes on his own to uncover the truth. When he enlists a family member to help him, a second murder takes place, and things get pretty messy from then on.

The mystery is a good one, and the author ties up the loose ends credibly, but this is really a novel with a mystery in it rather than a traditional crime story. Frank's psychological make-up and his interaction with the sharply drawn characters who surround him are of equal interest and depth as Ms. French's superbly constructed and totally compelling plot.

-- By Robert Croan,
Post-Gazette senior editor

This debut novel, about a mute, albino young woman who makes paper in southern France during the Inquisition, seems to have all the ingredients for a gripping read."/>

The book draws the reader in, but when the last page is turned, one feels dissatisfied. Nothing unexpected happens.

The book's most disappointing aspect is that every plot point is heavily foreshadowed. The reader knows from the moment a certain male character is introduced that he will be the heroine's love interest.

And from the moment the heroine's looks and disability are described, it is clear that the Inquisition will be seeking her out. But once these inevitable events transpire, they seem to pass without any real damage or character development.

Also, plenty of red herrings are introduced but none is pursued to a gratifying conclusion.

Questionable historical details sully the novel's credibility and the author's own details don't ring true. Did the Inquisition really nurse its victims back to health after they had been through torture? Would a young woman in 1320 be likely to commit to writing her belief that women were equal to men? Would she even believe that?

Ms. Sankaran is at her best describing subjects she seems to know personally, such as how to make paper or what medieval books look like.

This debut effort has many fine points, but could have benefited from a bit more historical detail and more editing on the plot and character development.

-- By Laura Schneiderman
Post-Gazette

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