A yawn of a yarn. It's only 192 pages, but I had a hard time finishing. I humbly acknowledge my doom as a Literary Lunkhead for not going gushingly gaga over Graham Greene's gifts. I don't dispute his skill and insight, but I'm genetically incapable of appreciating most of his work. Of five Greene novels I've started, I've only been able to finish two. I'm not entirely a lost cause. I did love The Quiet American and would even read it again. There are already scads of reviews for this book, so I won't go into detail. I will say, though, that if you are an agnostic or an atheist you may lose patience with the author's pounding away at certain themes as if repetition will make them true. Reading tastes aside, there's one thing about this story that didn't ring true for me. Greene presents Sarah Miles as a woman desired by many men. Once they've had her they seem incapable of going on without her, as if she's so extraordinarily lovable that she can't be replaced. But nowhere in the book did the author give me any reason to believe she was wonderful. She's obsessive, wishy-washy, unfaithful, and sometimes manipulative. I didn't hate her, but neither did I like her. Her popularity was therefore unconvincing.