This is about as bad- and as good- as one might expect from the author of the much-discussed Hanatee. Here we have Brooklyn Heights in 1875, before the invasion of the tough guys and the subways- then a staid, respectable community of homes. Our author seems not quite sure whose story it is- she is more concerned with the not-too-unusual theme, the eternal search for something, be it truth or death. Her bizarre characters are fired with nervous restlessness, and refuse to stay put in her story. There is beautiful Chloe, who marries the wealthy sportsman, Gerrit Van Fleet. Gerrit is a perpetual adolescent and doesn't ature even when Chloe leaves him to seek ""the man who waits in the haciend"". She never finds the man, but takes up all and sundry in her pursuit of a purpose for existence. At the close, dying of hard living and absinthe, she has a foggy notion that perhaps God and the power of creation are the answers. Chloe's unusual disappearance has strange psychological effect on her three sons:- Eric becomes a soldier of fortune; Neil a wastrel; and Victor boringly good, goes insane on the verge of attaining Eva, his life's goal. The plot is hastily stitched together and superficial to the point of being vapid. Slipshod style and too obvious characterization make it too evidently timed to capture the elusive market of The Manatee. Those who read this for an emotional jog will be disappointed.