I finished Roy Lewis’s The Evolution Man, Or, How I Ate My Father yesterday. I’d checked it out of the library on Terry Pratchett’s recommendation in the Washington Post (about halfway down the article, which is part of an entire issue of Book World devoted to sf). Pratchett does an excellent job of describing the book, but I should have paid a touch more attention to the end of his review; failing that, the subtitle should have been a clue that this was not really my kind of book (the original British title was What We Did to Father). It has some lovely moments, but in the end I found it an exercise in cynicism of the type that doesn’t suit me.