Probably the shortest book I've ever read. 170 pages, small pages, huge font, huge linespacing, lots of empty space because of the constant chapter breaks, etc. The photograph on the cover is a very good summary of what I had come to think of Irving after reading the book. He's over sixty, says himself that he hasn't watched movies in 20 years, didn't go to the wrap party, etc etc etc, and hasn't written a decent book in almost 15 years. So no wonder he's kinda grim nowadays.