It is no secret that I'm not a fan of Mark Twain's work. I have not attempted to conceal this in any way, and actually have been rather up front about it. So, when I was offered a copy of a compliation of some of Twain's writing, I made darn sure the publisher knew that they were ice skating uphill on this one. Yet, for some odd reason, that didn't stop them. Either very confident in their work, or foolishly blind, they sent me off a copy anyway of The Chicago of Europe: And Other Tales of ...