When a song by Ratt or late-period Journey comes on the car radio, do you roll down the window and pump your fist in the air? If you do, you'll probably do the the same thing with this book. It's all about the good old days, back when shoulder pads were huge and journals like "October" really meant something. But unlike "October," Frech Theory never dies -- it just glistens with more and more nostalga. And like any good hard rock ballad, this book is dripping with more nostalga than a freshly glazed donut. But you were expecting this, right? It had to be done with Frenchness -- just letting it sit there and get more stale would have been so... unglazed.