The truth about Derleth seems to get lost amidst the mountains of his own work. Much of which is proabably better-off left alone, e.g the slap-dash horror/phantasy (which is neither horrifying nor particularly fanciful), and the Solar Pons mysteries (whose only mystery is that they still have a following. The truth is also done a heavy disservice by the incomprehensible partisanship of his small but vocal gaggle of devotees. This book is almost embarrassing in its obsession with Derleth's meaner side. Those who want to know about him can find more than enough in his best books, like the diaristic WISCONSIN COUNTRY, novels like EVENING IN SPRING, and the harder to classify pieces like ATMOSPHERES OF HOUSES. ( )