RECENT REVIEWS:

The Number 73304-23-4153-6-96-8 by Thomas Ott »

Omaha Steaks' The Great American Grilling Book by John Harrison and Judith Choate »

For Your Eyes Only: Ian Fleming + James Bond by Ben Macintyre »

Skyscrapers of the Midwest by Joshua W. Cotter »

True Norwegian Black Metal by Peter Beste  »

In his 2006 book Swimming with the Devilfish, Des Wilson, a New Zealand-born Londoner, explored the relatively unknown world of British and European professional poker. With Ghosts at the Table, he dives into better-charted waters, surveying the best-known American poker myths and legends over the course of a stateside visit spanning Mississippi riverboats, back-road Texas hideaways and Vegas shark aquariums.

While he debunks a few myths along the way, Wilson doesn't aspire to be poker's Bob Woodward, instead serving as an affable tour guide to the game's biggest stories and personalities. When his investigations dead-end, he generally shrugs and moves on to the next destination. His account of his visit to Deadwood, South Dakota -- the backdrop to the first chapter -- drags along, but not because Wilson fails to uncover much new information. He's enthused with exactly what hand Wild Bill Hickok was holding when he was shot, but a more engaged writer might have compelled more interest in the people involved in this history, such as the owners of modern-day Deadwood's competing tourist traps or the great-grandchildren of the people who were in Saloon No. 10 on that day in 1876. Wilson talks to some of those people, but doesn't seem interested in fleshing out their stories beyond matter-of-fact quotes.

The trip picks up steam when it leaves the frontier. Wilson is at his best when he makes close personal contact with his subjects, especially Amarillo Slim. An extended visit with the shady poker great yields a funny, melancholy portrait of a frail old man on an outsize ranch, cooing to his beloved horses and tooting his car horn at his own dirty jokes.

Like any long session at the table, Ghosts at the Table runs hot and cold. It rolls when Wilson embeds himself in the story. It limps when he quotes from other poker books or spends long passages constructing reasonable guesses about that ultimate poker irrelevancy: the truth.