...equals fortytwo and the Peace Corps beckoned the author of The Southpaw to send him abroad for a think piece on the organization. Then Security held up a stopping hand. To our G-men, pink is pink, even if Harris Pink is that innocent, protracted adolescent shade. The journal is his record of their less than intrepid clearance methods before they unleashed him on our African-based Corpsmen. AT the nadir of government Nosy Parkering, Harris had to explain old book reviews rather than his books. Thus, with more justification than in his last (Mark the Glove Boy) Harris can pick up his shrill refrain against being reviewed, which, at least for reviewers, takes away from the reading pleasure in the occasional eloquence he brings to observations on his daily life. Once arrived in Africa. Harris kept one eye trained on his own navel while psyching his Peace Corps hosts. A Journal excuses author ego rampant, from Security to insecurities and its formlessness; however, a readership may prove unforgivingly indifferent. This journal was treated to some high-level, round-robin submission prior to publication--Elizabeth Janeway, Max Bluestone, William Gibson and Herbert Blau. The book was either published because or in spite of them.