I have this weird fascination with Newport and the Newport Mansions, beginning from when I was assigned the totally intense "Seacoast of Despair" by Joan Didion in high school. It only intensified when I actually moved to Rhode Island, and within a month my BFF Liz and I visited Newport at 4:30am to check out the sights without the tourists. We drove down Bellevue Avenue being like, "Who the fuck lives in these houses?" Then I met a boy who actually did fucking live in one of those houses as a little kid (Isaac Bell House) and now we're going to get married or something. Obsession was thrown into overdrive. This book has some good tidbits, but the overall impression I got was that everyone was so rampantly insane that it's amazing that every single house didn't burn down. Sample: "Berkeley had set sail for America en route to Bermuda, where he intended to found a church of England school to bring Christianity to the Indians. He was unaware that there were no Indians in Bermuda at the time!" This guy became prominent in Newport society. Let your mind wander. ( )