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With "Masters of Atlantis" I've run out of Charles Portis' books. As I mentioned once before, I'm trying to keep these reviews short and to the point, but I didn't feel it was right to pass by this book without eulogizing it in some way. So there it is. It's not his finest book (that would be "The Dog of the South" without question) but it's a fine meditation on getting old and the expectations that an artist has placed on them and places on themselves.
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