I have been a fan of William Maxwell's beautifully crafted fiction for many years, and after reading Wilkinson's eloquent tribute to a father-figure who helped him become a writer I definitely want to search out the Maxwell books I haven't yet read. Wilkinson quotes liberally from Maxwell's novels, stories, essays and private papers, with the permission of Maxwell's daughters. Wilkinson himself is no slouch as a writer. Indeed, the early chapters of the book often had me chuckling, as Alec describes one of his first jobs as a summer cop in Wellfleet, Massachusetts. Things turn largely serious, however, as he meditates on the reasons he was drawn to Maxwell as a young boy. The primary reason was a distant, difficult relationship with his own father, who was himself a close friend of Maxwell's. What this affectionate tribute leaves you with, more than anything else, is a sense of what a kind and decent man William Maxwell was, a man who always had time for a much younger man trying to find his voice as a writer. This mentor-student relationship was to flower into a genuine friendship over the years, despite the generational age difference. Wilkinson's descriptions of the final days of both Bill and Emmy Maxwell are extremely moving, but Maxwell even softens this transition for his protege, telling him "I don't think we'll stop talking just because I'm dead." This is a comment I can understand, because as anyone who has ever lost a dear friend or relative will tell you, the conversations do go on, at least inside your head. And often these "internal conversations" are more satisfying and direct than any you ever had with that person when he or she was still alive. I guess my only complaint with this book was that I wished there were more. But I guess I'll find more by reading those other books - by both Maxwell and Wilkinson. ( )