In The End of the Alphabet, a sappy yarn that oozes cloying whimsy, 50-ish adman Ambrose Zephyr gets a vague but deadly diagnosis and decides to spend his last month traveling to various locales representing each letter of the alphabet, accompanied by his wife, who bears an equally improbable name: Zappora Ashkenazi. CS Richardson describes the couple with mildly witty aphorisms (''He collected French-cuffed shirts as others might collect souvenir spoons...He was a courageous eater, save Brussels sprouts and clams''), but it's virtually impossible to muster any sympathy for, or interest in, the fates of sketchy archetypes. This slight novella reads like a bizarre collaboration between Mitch Albom and the McSweeney's crowd. C

