In spite of the success of The Rothschilds, Frederic Morton has never written an even indifferently good novel and this one, top Switzerland's most ""social snowheap,"" is really slush. Assembled there to ostensibly ski, but actually to apres-ski via ""ruthless socializing"" and furious fornication are--a former Nazi; one of his victims, a writer, now married to a Hollywood sex symbol; an aviation magnate; a Negro entertainer, his aristocratic wife and their ""cocoanut"" baby; Prince Olgenau who is a faggot and Schorsch, a former ski champion--just one big ""fun-fun-fun group"" on the go-go-go circuit until Morton's magic mountain falls--two avalanches. . . . Morton never refuses the temptation to gild the lily but the publishers, in one of their less rational moments, compare this to Henry James. It's really hard to think of Henry James saying ""itty pretty"" and ""pissy-piss"" actually, it's hard to think of anyone saying them.