Dare we make a confession, and draw fire from the critics whose taste runs to the moderns? We find no kindred chord in Saroyan; in fact, we struggle through his elisions and obliqueness for some glimmer of what he is getting at, and emerge, still bewildered. Consequently, we simply recommend the new volume to your tender mercies; those of your customers who are Saroyan-minded will like it. We question selling it as fiction, as much of the material seems to be autobiographical musings and meanderings. First edition value, for the addicts.