rare is a work which possesses such beauty and abjectness all at once. its akin to asking a great chef to prepare a meal that both delights and engages one's gag reflex simultaneously. yet here it is. a tale about one of our country's storied relics, one that has thus far refused to relent. it's almost as if you can see its fingers straining on the ship's railing, hanging on, constantly re-adjusting its grasp. conroy does much in Lords to dance between the lines of ardor and disgust and in doing so does much to reveal the societal schizophrenia we possess to explain and justify such hangers-on as this.

regardless of your position on the matter, this is an entrancing story with plenty of darkened corners. possibly one of the more remarkable facets of the effort is his ability to wrap things up so clean and neat at the end, just like the military shirt tucks mentioned throughout.