David Mamet's new novel is didactic. It has many things to impart and it wants to make sure they end up inside your thick skull. For starters, there is the overuse of italics in dialogue, which tells the reader: You must say this line this way. Then there are the pearls of wisdom and philosophy that are dropped by a whorehouse madam and other characters. When it is not teaching, there is a lot of drinking on display as well as unaccountable grief. (Unaccountable because the love story makes little sense and has no predicate. The woman, in fact, says maybe three words.) Mannered and cold, Chicago sinks with barely a bubble.
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