Unlike the purported flavor of the book's namesake tonic, Wickett's Remedy is rather bland. Heavy on period detail and literary style, but light on plot, Myla Goldberg's disappointing second novel is easy to set down.

Goldberg is the author of the popular Bee Season, a look at the life of one family spiraling into dysfunction. This time, she draws from history, tracking the life of Lydia Kilkenny, a reluctant Southie girl (from South Boston) in the early 1900s.

Lydia yearns for the high-class life of the customers she serves at Gilchrist Department store on the other side of the tracks. Amazingly, she manages to attract the attention of a medical student and customer from a wealthy family. Frail, shy and heavily dependent on his parents, Henry Wickett woos Lydia with awkward lunch dates and smooth love letters.

Mainly what he can offer Lydia is a ticket to the life she's dreamed about from behind the counter.

While Henry slogs through medical school, he dreams of fulfilling his internal yearning to become a journalist and writer. He finally hits upon a way to conjoin his interests by marketing a tonic as an excuse to send its users encouraging letters. Lydia comes up with the formula for the tonic and Henry goes about marketing the stuff.

At one point, an enterprising young man named Quentin Driscoll contracts with Henry to become a distributor for Wickett's Remedy. Around the same time, America declares war on Germany and begins sending troops. Also, the Spanish flu starts taking its toll on Lydia's family and friends. As more people die while Lydia remains healthy, she finds herself called to nursing.

Volunteering for the local hospital, she also applies to work for an influenza transmission study being conducted on captured Navy deserters.

The plot meanders in this way, and could be summarized as: first this happened, then this happened, then that happened. There is no well-defined problem-resolution cycle but, instead, just the tragedies and travesties of one character's life.

One very much wants to like this book because, from a literary perspective, it is well-written. Sentences are lovingly crafted, and interesting devices are used throughout. For instance, one device employed is reminiscent of Edgar Lee Masters 1916 poetry collection, Spoon River Anthology. Comments in the margins of the story are made by a kind of collective chorus of the dead. Each comment reflects the perspectives of the dead on the given situation.

In one scene, where Lydia meets with Quentin Driscoll, the chorus says: "Lydia's memory is Our sole benchmark of this event. Like many who join Us after a long old age, Mr. Driscoll's recollections are clouded beyond comprehension."

Other literary devices include newspaper articles from the period, and letters between characters.

Primarily, what can be said in favor of Wickett's Remedy is that it's atmospheric. Those interested in the daily life of Irish-Americans in South Boston around the end of World War I and in the onset of the Spanish flu will find plenty of period ambiance.

But others may find that the lack of compelling conflict leaves them, if not reluctant, then at least not particularly motivated to turn the page.

Goldberg's latest novel, while crafted with talent and heart, could use (dare I say it) a remedy for its ills.

Eric J. Blommel is a freelance writer living in Centennial.