You could never guess.
I've known about Lee Standiford's well received book, have skidded through a stream of consumer raves, hoping the local library would eventually order a copy. It sounded like maybe a Big One. Not big enough for Oakland, half the town still behind masks, some on a waiting list for mask implants.
So, I broke down and ordered a copy from Amazon. The moment it arrived, I opened it to find a form of type face insultingly small,worse yet, not clear black but half-dead grey. And this, from a major publisher? Great cover, frugal interior design on life support.
The experts say that the publishing world is having a hell of a time, many books selling 0 copies, the average new tome, in a swampland of both traditional and self-publishing, selling around 300 to 500 copies.
I read many books, but I did not relish the thought of fighting my way across a grainy grey typeface terrain. Not unless the book were about John Ringling North or Rodgers & Hammerstein.
Here comes yet a bigger shock, for anybody who has a basic kindergarten knowledge of American circus history. While temporarily in possession of the orphan, I did a little checking to see how big a role Art Concello plays in the narrative. So I looked for his name in the index.
Nothing!
Heck, he was only to John Ringling North what James. A. Bailey had kind of been to P. To Barnum. A big player.
I'll leave it at that, other to note that the book seems to cover a wider ground than what the title promises.
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