I read this book sometime ago expecting and hoping to find some deeply philosophical and moving writing about life. Instead what I got was dreadful writing that never rises above the obviousness and triteness of "fly fishing is a metaphor for life." Try this one on for size: "My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things - trout as well as eternal salvation - came by grace; and grace comes by art; and art does not come easy." Yuck. I can't even read that sentence and so many others in the book, without, um, metaphorically speaking, wanting to rinse it right out of my mouth. It's like rancid ice cream coated with honey and molasses and then sucked through a full pixie stick.