A very well-written biography, with Stein's usual strokes of arrogance and painful objectivity (I love Stein). It was tedious at times, what with all the name dropping that I could not get to care about. One thing that I find ridiculous (besides Stein not being afforded the same brand of genius as Pound and Eliot and Joyce &co.) is that the summary for this book mentions Fitzgerald and Hemingway as somewhat constant presences, when in fact the first one is mentioned in passing, and the other mocked (albeit affectionately) in the last 40 pages of the book. Good job, Penguin.