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What are a couple of smart, ironic writers doing in a place like a casino? They're (how did you guess?) losing. But their loss is the readers' gain.

"Ahab's Wife," the latest in the emerging genre of footnote fiction, doesn't add much to Melville's masterpiece. On its own terms, though, it's surprisingly successful.

In Michael Lewis's new book, a "Last Tycoon"-ish tale of brilliant excess, a Silicon Valley genius builds the tallest sailboat in the world.

Is the S.A.T., instituted to create a fairer society, having the opposite effect? That's Nicholas Lemann's conclusion in his excellent new book.

In her new book, Susan Faludi takes her reporter's microscope in search of American men. Predictably, she misses the forest for the trees.

Frank McCourt's latest is another virtuoso display of charm and sheer likeability. But the suspicion arises: Is he really a misanthrope?

Ron Hansen is a very good writer, but did we really need someone to imagine the (predictably nauseating) sex life of the personification of evil?

Disney's controlled experiment in small-town life is both a little Utopia and a breed of fascism. But mostly, there's not enough there there.

We can't escape the accelerating pace of modern life, argues James Gleick, so we might as well enjoy it. But that doesn't leave time for much else -- say, reading.

Geoff Dyer's "Paris Trance" follows Fitzgerald back to France -- with ecstasy in place of vin rouge. But here, the City of Light is dimmer.