Xero to Sixty Paperback – April 9, 2015

It's flattering to be asked to review a book, unless the author is a good friend, in which case it’s terrifying, unless the book is awesome, in which case the pressure’s off, and I can lead by saying thank you, Arthur, for writing this book.I read “Xero to Sixty” six weeks ago, during three late afternoons, on a beach in Hawaii. So yeah, I was predisposed to enjoy it. But my goodness, I had Xero in my head for a week. And I was delighted by his companionship. What would Xero have had to say about that kooky lady in the rainforest selling “horse coconuts?” How would Xero’s brush have painted these divine sunsets?Xero’s narrative voice is an efficient blend of academic prowess and last century’s street slang, with an eye on what matters. I grew fond of the paragraphs where I was being led somewhere, but I didn’t know where, or care, because I had learned in only a few pages to trust the driver. In this paragraph, Xeno tells us more about Judy, a coworker at the circus, and he ends his reflection with one of my favorite lines in the book.EXCERPT: We had become friends but in a way I did not understand. We spent hours working together but separately like children in parallel play in a schoolyard. We lunched at the same times but someone also seemed to sit between us. We walked along the same straw-strewn paths but always in different directions. She would smile at me, nod, bat her eyes, look away ' the link seemed never to be made but the allure was always there, beckoning, rich with tension. If I hadn’t been such a dweeb, I’d have known. I bet Tony did… and Doris. It’s been Oracled and Delphied. But not me… For I, whisper, whisper this quietly, do not leak this to anyone, not Harlan, not Frankie, and not Dickless, but the richly monikered Xerxes Theodore Konstantakis had yet to dip his stick into the engine oil. END EXCERPTHere’s a typical description that does so much more:“Bobby Joe was wearing his good ol' boy act like it was a rubbed up moleskin jacket draped round his compact, muscular shoulders.”And here’s a paragraph about Xero and Bobby Joe selling encyclopedias door to door in 1960. Note how the long sentences, by their very construction, take us back.EXCERPT: The whole continent seemed to have been tilted, migrants obeying the tug of some strange kind of gravity. They needed houses with bassinettes and cribs, they needed cars with fins, had to have Good Housekeeping Seal'ed ranges and fridges and we knew, me an' Bobby Joe, that they also will need words, knowledge, facts, dates and names, to be told of wars, who started 'em, fought 'em, won 'em and got to write the one true history. They need to be linked with Sputnik and the bomb, with Barbie, and the creeping commies, with Fidel and Ike and Khrushchev and de Gaulle and Starkweather and Van Allen and everything new and scary. We were the bringers of the word and we were tooling down the road in a second-hand green Chevy with a wobbly right rear wheel. END EXCERPT.One measure of a book is was it engaging? Another is did it change me?Yes and yes. As to that second thing…About himself, Xero said, “I was slipping down the social ladder and the humor of it seemed lost on all but me.”Xero smiles at the world all the way through this book. Granted, he’s looking back on events that weren’t necessarily a bucket of yuks when they happened. But the smile is there, in the reflective Xero, and in the young adventurer. And I’ve been carrying that smile with me since Hawaii. Xero sees circuses wherever he goes, and now I‘m doing the same.

I've known Arthur for years, decades. I knew he was a highly respected cognitive scientist. I knew, from personal (sometimes painful) experience that he was (is) an excellent poker player. I knew he'd written a bunch of books on gambling. Now he pops up as a novelist. I'm trying to decide whether I still love him or hate him.Anyway, the book is a delight. Reber traces the life of a character named "Xero" (who sometimes reminds me a bit of the author 'cause I know he ran away with the circus when he was a teenager) through a forty year span from a college dropout to a respected poker pro who may (or not) die on the operating table.Buy it. Read it. Love it. BTW, I never give anything a 5 unless I can't live without it. A 4 from me is strong.

Arthur Reber's command of language echoes imagery of the finest painter putting a brush to the naked canvass, a meticulous composition which slowly but steadily tantalizes the reader's imagination. As the pages turn and Reber continues constructing his portrait, we become infectiously absorbed into a wide complexity of emotions, a reaction characteristic of the only most profound works of art. "Xero to Sixty" affords us the bold narrative and intrigue we'd expect from someone of Reber's background, but then goes way beyond by revealing an acute originality and brazen ingenuity one might not expect of an academic or scientist. Here, Reber proves himself an artist, painting with the mind, and what a remarkable depiction this turns out to be.Nolan DallaWriter and Social Critic, Las Vegas, NV

Reber's protagonist, Xero (a corruption of Xerxes), is a fascinating character with a convoluted past. People, both real and fictional, migrate into professional poker in dozens of ways. I’ve met many, but never encountered one with Xero’s fascinating life story.Alas, most poker pros are boring. All they’ve done is play poker and other games. This Xero is much more varied. He failed as a college student and book salesman, got busted for impersonating a federal office, traveled with a circus, and his wedding became an ethnic brawl. He has a surprisingly happy, though testy, marriage to a civil rights lawyer. His mentor is a con artist. His best friend is a gay legal hotshot. His closest confidant is an Irish gangster masquerading as a barkeep.He's the sort of guy I’d enjoy tossing down a beer with (though he only drinks Guinness) or perhaps playing poker with, even though he'd likely kick my ass.You’ll enjoy meeting Xero along with the fabulous array of fascinating characters that enter and sometimes stay, sometimes are "removed" and sometimes leave of their own accord, his life.

Arthur Reber has written an old-fashioned coming of age novel--and I mean that in the best way-- about a literate poker-playing layabout of Greek descent whose adventures put one in mind of the novels of John Fante, Henry Fielding and J.P. Donleavy. If you like a rousing shaggy dog story told by a narrator who feels like a good friend, then you'll like this. I'd call it a "rollicking tale" if not for that phrase being a cover staple of all those cool paperback novels of the 1960s. On the other hand, I'm thinking it's high time to reclaim that phrase--in which case Reber's Xero to Sixty is just the book to do it!

Arthur Reber has managed to write a book that has engaged us in the pathos and laugh-out-loud rollicking adventures of a young man, the drifting son of Greek immigrants, as he finds his own path - from academia to circuses, to the dangerous dens of underworld of illegal gambling clubs. The tale of the courtship and marriage of this young man into another immigrant culture that clashes with his own will bring gales of laughter and tears to those of us who have experienced like episodes in our lives. Great writing, great dialogue! A great read!