Nothing is more disappointing in a novel than finding it derivative. Unfortunately this is what LIE is and nothing more. If fiction is a horizon of expection, than LIE does little more than move our narrative hopes in concetric circles. You get the impression, reading Mr. Hollander's novel, that he is pasting together all the trite literary techniques that he was taught at Sarah Lawrence. Pastiche, when not in the hands of a virtuoso, is just pat repitition. Mr. Hollander is no virtuoso; LIE, no masterpiece of reiteration.