The best Irving book I've read since "A Prayer for Owen Meaney," but unfortunately not quite the same caliber as Meaney. Still, it's a good story, even if it could have ended about a hundred pages sooner.

The story follows the lives of a cook and his son, who have to leave the logging camp where the cook works after an unfortunate incident of mistaken identity. The story itself spans decades in which the two men change names and jobs (though, not occupations) almost seasonally as they move through live half-driven by fate and half-driven by motivation to stay a step or two ahead of the vindictive sheriff (and eventually ex-sheriff) who bides his time tracking them down.

The biggest problem with the last fifth of the book or so is that it becomes too self-referential and borders on the asininely political. (Hey, I dislike Bush's post-9/11 policies as much as the next guy, but do I REALLY need to hear about it through the musings of a fictional expatriate author living in Toronto?) Until then, the story is almost completely character and plot driven, so the disappointment comes mostly from the change of pace. One might argue that it mirrors the pace of the main character's (the cook's son's) life, given the loss and grief he suffers, but that revelation doesn't make it less boring.

Overall, worth a read.