An odd novel, probably of enduring interest mostly because it is semi-autobiographical, and the author is a famous poet. It was panned by the TLS when originally released, and it's not really difficult to see why. In the afterword accompanying the book's republication thirty years later, Merrill acknowledges that he basically patched the novel together from a set of loosely connected fragments, an admission of laziness apt to make many readers feel ill used. I had trouble keeping track of the many minor characters, and it seems that other reviewers did as well. I think the novel's strengths are Merrill's descriptions of things and places--he has a lovely talent for using color in his prose. Recommend for readers interested in the lives of the extremely rich, and who have exhausted all other options. Also, of course, for Merrill fans. ( )