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Hit me and put me out of my misery
It was a good story, possibly worthy of an Atlantic or Vanity Fair printing, but to make a whole book of it was a great stretch. The last half of the book was interminable; I only finished the book because I started it.
Perhaps had this book been ghost-written it would have been more tolerable. But once the novelty of the story wears off (about halfway through the book) the amateurish writing style becomes grating. This is nothing new. I've read books by several successful businessmen who thought they were authors, and they just don't have it. Give me Fitzgerald or Dostoyevsky anyday. I am not a good writer, but I recognize one when I see one, and John Perkins is not one.
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