Part epistolary novel, part historical novel, part confessional novel, this is almost a great novel - only the last chapter mars its record. It's the story of a modern man, racked by a crippling disease, who is writing the history of his grandparents. Actual letters are used from a semi-famous woman writer and artist - the version of the book I bought had a nice introduction explaining the mechanics of the novel.
The fourth chapter of the section "On the Bough" has to be one of the best chapters I have read in a Pulitzer prize winning novel. It has suspense, characterization, and a vivid setting. Exceptionally well done.
On the other hand the last chapter is a huge disappointment. It violates the "don't lie to the reader" prime directive. It's a dream, and the read is not told it is a dream until it's over. Very unsastifying, the kind of thing that makes me want to throw the book against the wall, and it definitely leaves the book with a bad taste in the mouth.
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