The newspaper business, Fleet Street or wherever, does not seem to have changed much since Nathaniel West wrote about it. Take one middle-aged would-be or could-be (all he lacks is energy and courage) Miss Lonelyhearts for a reporter; give him a medium dose of wife and mistress trouble. Add one homosexual (and utterly unamusing) Walter Mitty for photographer. Give them a polished but inevitably ruthless editor and assign them to covering a Welsh Billy Graham. And there you have the complete recipe. Yes, the revivalist has to be ruined by a scandal to increase circulation and reporter and photographer have to have their ineffectual moral crises. But nobody gets converted or changed, only a bit more disillusioned (if possible) because this is realism--this much we know for certain because the word ""bloody"" appears twice in the opening sentence. Well, it may be real enough, but it is not significant. Mr. Vincent (Long Road Home and End Of A Summer's Day) is not an Angry Young Man, he is only stylishly bitter. He is certainly proficient enough to keep the reader going to the end, and if he should ever find something worth saying he should not have too much trouble saying it. One hopes he's still searching.