If you had told me that I would give less than four stars to a Percival Everett book, I would have laughed you right out of the room. And yet, here we are. This particular book didn't do it for me, probably in part due to the epistolary format. Also the fact that Everett "plays himself" in the book didn't really land for me. The satire of the publishing industry is effective a lot of the time, but I couldn't keep up with the absurdity of it all as the book unfolded. I was also bemused by the treatment of the Strom Thurmond character/figure, which seemed to veer from rightful indictment to a sort of resigned acceptance? (Read the previous sentence with the rising intonation of an indecisive freshman in a seminar course.) All told, this book didn't live up to its title and/or my fangirl appreciation for its author's other works.