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I couldn't agree more with the reviewer who observed she had not expected to care so much for the author. I started reading this volume as a long time but only luke-warm reader of Fitzgerald. This painful memoir of his depression and recovery was initially intellectually engaging but to my amazement became intimate and absorbing in ways Fitgerald's novels are not. In this book of short stories, letters, and misc. prose Fitzgerald turned his considerable talents towards examining, as Philip Lopate suggests, the character of the "I," and the reader is much the better for his efforts.