I happen to live in Kansas City and loved the descriptons of the area. It bought out the discrimation against blacks and described the effect the Mafia had on this city. The Mafia did try to take over the town but they were too late. Tom Pendergast already owned everyone in down without his permission. Need a job, trouble with the law, what ever, just go see Tom Pendengast. ALl he asked in return was your vote. All of the corruption is exactly as written in the book. Edward R. Morrow was said as far as sin was concerned forget Paris. Shaning and PeKing might be worse but he dobuted it. As afarr as one area was concerned there was no depression. There was no building going on because of the depression except in Kansas City. Mr. Pendergast owned a concrete company. The city hall was built, as well as the county court house, the Federal Court House, the Police Buiding, a Muncipal Audition. Of course, Mr. Pendergast's concrete company got the bids. An electrican only did so much work a day as did a plumber, brick layer, ect. No labor saving devices were used. This way more people had work for a longer time. A person could rent a room, have femine company, liquor and hear the best music on earth and all in the same building. If he wanted gamble he only had to go to the basemnt---presto---gambling, liquor, etc.

If that's the case, may I offer for your amusement a slim little volume of tales by journalist Daniel Elton Harmon and featuring an historical counterpart of the author's by the name of Harper. Mr. Harper is a reporter for the fictitious Columbia, S.C., CHALLENGE in the almost-civilized era of the 1880's. The first compilation of his adventures, THE CHALK TOWN TRAIN & OTHER TALES, is billed as volume one of The Harper Chronicles, and those of us who like nothing better than a rollicking good yarn will be waiting impatiently for volume two.

The title story pits Harper against a notorious sociopath, back before such people actually had a diagnosis. "The Chalk Town Train" is a story of corporate injustice, unadulterated evil and justice administered with more than a touch of irony. Indeed, the purveyance of justice is a recurring theme in the eight stories that comprising the book, with our man Harper using his skill and insight to ferret out the truth, sometimes when no one else can.

Mr. Harmon has a superbly deft hand with the short story, and his characters are sharply drawn with a few adept strokes. From first word to last, each of Harper's adventures proceeds without a stumble, and the reader who can stop after reading just one must have a will of iron. His style is crisp and effortless, setting scenes with an economy of language that likely owes much to the author's own career as a journalist.

Indeed, the only real flaw in THE CHALK TOWN TRAIN is that it's over too soon, and before the appetite is satisfied.

Although this is the first book of fiction by Daniel Elton Harmon, it is far from his first published work. He has written more than thirty non-fiction books.

This is a fascinating collection of eight short stories, each featuring his late-nineteenth-century newspaper reporter hero, Harper. They held my interest to the end.

Harmon is a skilled writer, and I look forward to reading more of his work. He is a yarn spinner of the old school, reminiscent of Samuel Clemens or Booth Tarkington, who revels in story telling for the sake of story telling. A modern troubador. He lives in Lexington, South Carolina where he is well known not only for his writing, but also for his music making with his small folk music band, according to the book's introduction.

There are eight short stories in the book, all of which are quickly read and very entertaining. This is a wonderful book to read for your own pleasure, or to give as a gift. I recommend it highly.

Joseph Pierre,

author of The Road to Damascus and other books.

At the time, it was the epicenter of poverty and hopelessness, a toxic mix and this neighborhood, referred to as Urban Renewal Area II when I was there, is as bleak as any ghetto in any country. Native Canadians, the racial group who populate the area, are much like any group who are denied their place in the sun - displaced, despondent, frustrated, and angry at the power structure that oppresses them and sooner or later things reach a point where their issues must be addressed.

Sometimes it takes a riot, sometimes an assassination.

Unfortunately, it took too long after a troubled white policeman's murder of J. J. Harper, a First Nations leader, for the investigations by judicial commissions to break through the "blue wall" and place blame where it needed to go -- on bigoted cops. The police power structure was forced to examine itself and start to change. (Perhaps they all had a cold and couldn't smell the stink of institutional racism.)

Sinclair, on the side of the angels and the aboriginals, crafts a fast paced narrative, which he previously reported on as a columnist for the local paper. His style is smooth, economical, and concise and he covers the upheavals that began at Harper's death deftly and with compassion. (Almost every one here is a casualty including the victim, the cop that killed him and their families.)

The book moves with authority and slices and dices through the ultimately futile smokescreens thrown up by the police with a well-practiced hand. The recounting of this tragic story is good for Sinclair's readers and ultimately good for all of the people in the City of Winnipeg.

I was in Winnipeg last week and the centre of the city is poorer and more natives have moved in. The white flight continues. The First Nations people are still marginalized.

Maybe there's more hope because of this book.

--Barbara Samuels is co-director of the Greater Houston Area Writing Project and a consultant with the Rice School Writing Project.

How thankful I am as a reader that Harper's editors did not slash and burn her political writing which in my view is the crux of the book. The betrayal of the village, Ranotsara, in southeastern Madagascar, where Harper lived for fifteen months, by the Ranomafana National Park Project, the United States Agency for International Development, and other organizations of "good will" is astonishing. Her writing of the events is brilliant in large part because she stops just before nailing to the wall the puppets in those organizations. She leaves them twisting in the wind, unwilling, unable, or both, to make a case for themselves, no matter how obvious their desperation and denial.

The deaths in Ranotsara Dr. Harper witnessed, grieved, and tried hard to sing about bring to the fore the absolute decay of honor in these days of diminishing returns for the written word and honorable deeds hijacked by hapless do-gooders, doing more harm than good. The moment in the book when Harper's father dies is one of the most honest accounts of the multiple shocks she was electrified by in Ranotsara, as the "Tanala" (people of the forest) grieved their ever increasing dead.

Make no mistake, this book is not about Dr. Harper. It is about a village and a people she grew to love. It is about her culture shock in doing the work she obviously loves and the Tanala who are simply trying to preserve their culture and stay alive. There should be an English word stronger, brighter, and more endearing than 'endangered'. The people of the forest deserve it.

(**Please note** My name is David Harrington Campbell, the author of the recently published novel, DANCING ON THE CELLAR DOOR, currently available on Amazon.)