Andrews, a TV comedy writer, covers the 179 installments of I Love Lucy more thoroughly than Desi Arnaz did in his recent autobiography A Book (1975, p. 1401). The golden grip this show once had on our attention can no longer be understood and perhaps can only be likened to Beatlemania's later shockwaves. The growth of a modest sitcom, which hoped to last two seasons at best, into an entertainment conglomerate worth $20 million is more closely seen than your standard TV Guide article but the telling lacks any real style. Somehow, though Lucy is the orange incandescence at the frantic epicenter, Desi comes off as a more complicated, rich, and even moving figure. The plot outlines for all 179 shows are quite lively, but more and lengthier samplings from scripts, as well as a full chapter devoted to Lucy's routines, would have been welcome.