First, I am a lifelong baseball fan who enjoys both the game and its history. That being said, this book was a gigantic disappointment. I bought Cobb because I wanted to know much more about the crazy, wild Cobb that I had heard so much about. Instead, I was put to sleep with little more than a recitation of the back of a baseball card. "In 1907, Cobb hit .350 . . . In 1908, Cobb hit .324 . . ."
While there were some interesting anecdotes about Cobb's personal life, these occurred too seldom to save the book. Even when they were mentioned, it was almost dismissive. Stump spends twenty pages telling me how many doubles Cobb hit in a season, but only one sentence to tell me that Cobb always kept a million dollars in cash and securities on him at all times. What kind of author doesn't realize that the latter is much more compelling?
To make matters worse, the reader is dreadful. He has a droning, monotonouse voice. In short, do not waste you time with this pile of crap. You're much better off simply scanning the internet for Cobb anecdotes.
I'm a little surprised by the gush fest for this book. The writing and narration were solid, but the plot was predictable, especially to anybody who has read Jane Austen.
Also, I take exception with some reviewers referring to the book as a "ghost story" or "mystery". It's neither. On the whole, it doesn't rate more than 3 stars.
This book is a bad combination of H.P. Lovecraft's The Colour Out of Space and Clark Ashton Smith's The Seed in the Sepulchre. I really don't know where to begin . . . the plotting and characters were so bad that I'm surprised the book got published. The women characters were especially frustrating, hopelessly irrational and needy.
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