This story might be derivative in form, but is refreshingly original in content. In the clutches of a typically familiar post-collegiate funk, a naive New Yorker (not an oxymoron) gives himself five years to make it as a writer in Hollywood. In the meantime, he grudgingly acquiesces to take a job as a substitute teacher in Narrow Valley. After all, he has to pay the bills, and he'll have some time in class to work on his scripts. One might think that higher education equates with common sense, compassion, and intelligence, but one would be wrong. Alas, there are as many phonies in school biz as in show biz. What results is a scathing expose of the hypocrisy, pettiness, vindictiveness, and waste that permeate the hierarchies of public school districts everywhere. The author's not always tongue in cheek depiction of teachers as incompetent, libidinous, hedonistic, ne'er-do-wells, and of administrators as teachers who are promoted not because of their superior management skills, but as a means of maintaining damage control at the classroom level will prompt nods and grins of recognition that cut across all professions. The book deftly mocks those who would absolve themselves from their shares of the blame for a system that grows alarmingly more dysfunctional every year. In the end, the derision and ridicule are fairly evenly distributed, but what makes this more than just a finger pointing rant is the author's reserving the sharpest barbs in his quiver for himself.