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Frisco Gal by Clarkson Crane is, if not the worst book, ever written, published, sorta semi-skimmed looking for even one half-worthwhile passage, it’s certainly in the running. If I was Naomi Martin, as Frisco Gal once was, I’d have changed my name too. I wish I could at least say Clarkson Crane was borrachón filling the page for money but with Angie Dickinson as my witness, I can find no evidence to support that thesis. Forewarned is forearmed.

— Kenny Wisdom, Fiction Editor

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