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** spoiler alert ** I wanted to like this book. I really did. I even enjoyed the first couple of chapters and was prepared for an entertaining summer read Eventually, however, the lack of imagination, melodrama, and just plain bad writing did it in for me. At the risk of beating a dead horse (albeit a dead horse with tremendous appeal to book clubs across the United States), let me enumerate the problems (spoiler alert � not that I suggest you read this book anyway):

1. Neither the narrator, nor any of the other characters in Water for Elephants, for that matter, even remotely sound like they live in the 1930s, nor does the old man sound like an old man in the present-day chapters (in fact, he sounds exactly like he did as a 22-year old in the 1930s chapters). This indicates that the author has either a completely tin ear for a dialogue or not enough imagination to put her self into the minds of her characters.

2. In the movie version of this book (which surely must the on the way), our narrator Jacob surely must be played by Alan Alda, age difference be damned. He is, without a doubt, the nicest, most sensitive character to appear in any book I have the memory of reading (and I’m counting the Bible). On at least half-a-dozen occasions, he breaks down in tears at the cruel injustice of the world, including becoming comatose for over an hour (yes, over an hour � the author is explicit) after putting down a sick horse � despite being a veterinarian. Perhaps rethinking his line of work is in order.

3. Melodrama and sentimentality, offered with the utmost sincerity, dominates all the action in the book. Chapters are dotted with multiple fights, murders, stampedes and other calamities, creating not drama but rather a creeping sense of incredulousness in the reader. To illustrate with two examples: At the end of the 1930s storyline, following a deadly stampede in which the villain is murdered (yes, murdered) by an elephant (yes, an elephant), the narrator marries the girl (thus rescuing her from an abusive relationship) and takes from the recently failed circus 12 horses, a dog, a monkey, and an elephant (yes, an elephant!) to live with him and his wife happily ever after. This is not played for laughs. We are meant to be moved by the noble sacrifice, I think. At the end of the present-day storyline, our same narrator, now widowed and without his menagerie, runs off to join the circus (again) and the age of 93, in what has all the makings of a Hallmark movie.

4. Modern-day, therapy-driven (dare I say “touchy-feely�) sentiment pervades the entire story, especially those parts set in the 1930s. The book teaches (and remember, this is a book meant for adults, not children) such valuable lessons as: treating the elderly with respect is important; racism and antisemitism are wrong; violence against women is wrong; being cruel to animals (or even thinking of them as less important than people) is wrong; all people are important, not matter what there is; little people (dwarfs) have a difficult time in the world and deserve or respect; etc. By keeping her story in bondage to these platitudes, Gruen creates exceptionally one-dimensional characters who either support modern and politically correct values (and thus are good) or don’t (and thus are bad, unless of course they suffers from mental illness and the stings of antisemitism, in which case they are to be pitied). I can’t count the number of times I rolled my eyes, as the narrator, recently orphaned, covered in horse shit, and practically starving during the Great Depression, takes the time to think of those less fortunate. A narrator with a little bit more dirt on his soul would have been much more believable and ultimately more sympathetic.

N.B. � To continue my rant: The blurb that accompanies this book on the New York Times bestseller list reads something to the effect “Young man and an elephant save Depression-era circus.� Did the person who wrote that event read the book? The circus collapses into a spasm of chaos and violence at the end of the book.