My sole purpose in writing this mini review is to deprive the author of a sufficient number of book sales to make his loss of royalties equal or exceed my own loss in purchasing his vapid book. A more appropriate title might have been "The Black Swamp". The author's style is infuriatingly reminiscent of that other insufferably supercilious trading author, Victor Neiderhoffer. It is an excercise in narcissism, condescension, and empty literary erudition. The Cliff's Notes version would warrant at most a brief paragraph. The book is the ejaculate of his mental masturbation. My conscience will not allow me to resell it to someone, so I guess I'll just light charcoal with its pages. It's that fatuous.