National Review, June 30th, 1989
ALICE WALKER has called her latest enterprise "a romance of the last 500,000 years," which turn out to have been about 499,999 years and fifty weeks too many for me. I didn't go for the "romance" part much either, maybe because a few days with Alice Walker seem like five hundred millennia with anyone else. There's more wrong with The Temple of My Familiar than my allotted space -or indeed a whole issue of this journal-will allow me to record, but I think I can cite a few flaws, the first being its author's ineptitude. She has a lot of trouble with basics; or, as a severe judgment would put it...
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