I read it, and enjoyed that it seems to be the only Oxford biography out there that isn't written to sell something to the audience. Oh, it sells something, all right, but Oxford is hoisted on his own pitard. The author sits back and says, "oh, look at this, says he was buggering his page from Italy, oh, look at this, says he treated his wife like crap, oh, look at this, Oxxie says that if women aren't available, a boy will do." (Undeniably in Oxford's own words.) Talk about debunking! The Oxford conspiratists all seem to routinely dismiss it and hate it because the shining light of the truth is too much for them to take. Hissing like Gollum, they creep back into the nether cracks of the arse of history to plot and bide their time, and hope that maybe someone will discover that Nelson has some huge flaw in his character that they can all point to and say, "THERE! See!!!! HE LIKES GEORGE BUSH! EVERYTHING HE WROTE WAS A LIE!"