Former Esquire literary editor Adrienne Miller proves, through The Coast of Akron, that she's comfortable on either side of the editing desk; innovation, voice, and wit predominate in this work, and show that her mastery of these elements is solid. The novel is big and blustery and quite dense, with a major aspect of Miller's style being an adherence to exact details. Characters, places, objects: all are described with minute and creative specificity and help to create a certain point of view which seems almost as important to the story as the plot.

The central action of the book involves the revelation of a family secret, and the build-up to this unveiling takes the entirety of the novel (although, it should be mentioned, the secret itself is clear early on). Fergus Goodwyn, the boyfriend of Lowell Haven, a famous artist whose credentials are questionable, plans to show the world that the identity of the true artist is Lowell's ex-wife Jenny. Merit, Jenny and Lowell's adult daughter, plays a crucial role to Fergus, and it may in fact be for her that all of this takes place. Merit's story takes a backseat to Fergus's drama, although in many ways it's more intriguing: her own family life, driven by her wacky inventor husband Wyatt and Wyatt's daughter Caroline, is threatened by her own promiscuity (her third affair occurs with a young incompetent co-worker sporting braces and an Iron Maiden t-shirt) and insecurity (in many ways, the result of her father's extreme self-centeredness), and provides a more believable point of view than that of Fergus.

While Fergus does imbue sympathy in the reader, his voice within the novel grows wearying and kind of whiny. Lowell clearly plays the part of the bad guy (he has very few, if any, admirable qualities) and so Fergus's attachment to him makes him appear weak. In addition, Miller often has Fergus using a conversational type of tone; he tells his story as if the reader were sitting next to him, sharing his ever-present Kahlua and skim. This catty and sarcastic drawl, however, does reveal an obsessive and funny character deep within, as in this description of his catalog-shopping pattern, where after ordering and receiving

comes the whole loathsome process of finding a knife or a pair of scissors, plunging the knife or scissors down into the tape like some miserable overdone Poe character feverishly plunging a dagger into a distasteful heart, peeling the tape away, then the trip to the bathroom to wash my hands of the ghastly stick, then dealing with the Styrofoam peanuts, then the bubble wrap and tape around the item itself, and then the big question: What to do with the box?

It's all so exhausting.

Along with the narrative threads of Fergus and Merit is a third: Jenny's diaries from the 1970's, documenting when she met Lowell and the beginning of their life together. The writing here may the best in the book, though it differs from the over-the-top stylization of the rest of the novel; Jenny's voice when she arrives in London as an eighteen-year-old is completely believable and her frustration with Fergus (who in the beginning was enamored with Jenny and only later become part of Lowell's entourage) is very funny and true to life. In these sections, Miller allows the reader to do some of the "seeing" and shows that she can reveal character in more subtle and nuanced ways.

Some of the funnier parts of the book involve Wyatt, even though he is a very minor character. He is a man of systems, and his frustration with Merit's inherent chaos contributes some bizarre humor. Heading to Fergus's party and feeling the effects of nail polish remover fumes (long story), Merit blacks out while at a gas station, and wakes up ("2.37 seconds later, by Wyatt's calculation") to Wyatt and Caroline screaming at her because she has just backed into the air pump.

The damage wasn't as bad as Wyatt seemed to think-she'd only busted out the right taillight, she said. Wyatt reminded her how much a taillight on such an "old import" would cost. But it was true that the right side of the bumper maybe didn't look all that great. He opened the trunk, and slammed it. It wouldn't latch. Wyatt expressed concern that the emergency supplies were going to get wet now.

Hands down though, the most impressive part of the novel, and the thing that makes any (minor) flaws forgivable, is Miller's overall sense and appreciation of the absurd; this is what makes this book an unforgettable one. From Wyatt's wacky inventions to the family's pet pig to the wonderful observations that complete each scene, Miller's way of seeing gives the book a creative edge. Her style is over-the-top and crammed with ingenious commentary, but, more than anything else, displays true writing talent.