It's not that Mark Winegardner is a poor writer: He's pretty great, and The Godfather's Revenge, his second sequel to Mario Puzo's novel is everything it should be: nuanced, chilling, and threaded with intrigue (it's the 1960s, and the Mob becomes involved in a plot to assassinate a JFK-like president). But this book's very existence feels terribly wrong. Why can't dead authors stay dead? Robert LudlumTM books keep appearing in stores (he died five years ago) and V.C. Andrews® (Flowers in the Attic) spawned a posthumous industry. That said, if you simply have to read more about Michael Corleone, you probably won't be able to put this one down.