Small in the Eye of a River

Rating:
Summary: An early father figure to me...
Review: I took violin lessons from Frank when I was about 7 years old, living near Woodstock in the mid-to late 70's. I used to love to go to to his house and spend time with him. It was one of the rare opportunities to be away from my parents and to be with someone who treated me like an adult. He used to let me light his pipe for him, and scold me about not clipping my fingernails regularly. He would make me tea and we would sit and talk in his musty-smelling old house. Strangely enough, I find that my memories of Frank have nothing to do with the violin (which ostensibly, is why I was there) but rather of peace, quiet, and being made to feel like an adult at the age of 7. Time at Frank's house was like spending time with a friend, talking quietly in a secluded corner of an old library. A giant in mortal guise....

PS - I realize that this review has nothing to do with Frank's book, but this is the only place on the internet that I could find to say a few words about a good man.

Rating:
Summary: My Old Friend Frank
Review: Small in the Eye of A(the)River is, at last, in print again, due mainly to the efforts of Tony Bonavist and Nick Lyons - thank you both.

Frank was a contemplative man and thought seriously and critically about many things, including music and fly fishing. This reviewer met him, quite by accident, at a critical time in my life and he became father, mentor, angling companion and friend, over 30 years.

This little tome is a collection of short stories that is the definitive work, in all the angling literature, of why people fish. The reader that does not come away with a better understanding or notion of the "why" of it all, has missed the point entirely.

Frank Mele lived modestly in a small house in Woodstock, NY. However, when one entered his home, there was no doubt he was in the lair of a giant.

Frank's style and way with the penned word is rarely approached and never surpassed in the world of fly fishing literature. He takes the reader into the past in search of the perfect "Blue Dun," he engages in almost anecdotal humor and, finally, pathos, shown as unrequited love in the final chapter, published posthumously.

This is not a "how to" book about fly fishing but, rather, a journey through a portion of a very complex and labyrinthine mind. Frank was one of a kind and he is missed terribly. I think of every day. Highly recommended.