Man of a Million Fragments: The True Story of Clay Shaw by Donald H. Carpenter is so fantastically detailed that it becomes tedious. As with Oswald, there simply wasn't sufficient "missing time" in his life for him to have done all the things he supposedly did. New Orleans being what it was, and Shaw and Ferrie having gay proclivities, it's conceivable they were once in the same room together (e.g., some party or gathering) but the idea of close acquaintances is belied by all the evidence. Carpenter follows through on the main Ferrie claims, and they just don't pan out. Why can't people just let go of these dead ends?
