Lamentably, I’ve fallen a bit behind here (it was bound to happen — again — eventually). Fortunately, I had a mostly-complete draft waiting to help me get back on track quickly. Let’s pretend this entry appeared in late August, 2010 rather than January or 2011, shall we?
Having just returned [ed. note: 'Just'. Ha!] from my annual escape to most-relaxing Muskoka . . . → Read More: A Reliable Wife
Somewhat ironically, this is my first “real-time” (rather than “from the archives”) book review on Lost in a Book. By real-time, I mean that I finished reading the book now, in July of 2010, and am writing and sharing my thoughts on it for the first time ever. Why is this (somewhat) ironic? Because the first book I’m writing about in 2010 has been around since 1943. The book in question is Betty Smith’s much-lauded, semi-autobiographical bildungsroman, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. . . . → Read More: A Tree Grows In Brooklyn
I picked up and ultimately purchased my copy of Gillian Flynn’s Sharp Objects on a whim. I was browsing in an airport bookstore when I happened on it, and was tickled by the idea of boarding an airplane holding a book with a razor blade foil-stamped on the cover. What a treat that the book ended up being a great read. . . . → Read More: Sharp Objects
Beth Gutcheon’s Leeway Cottage is a book which is enhanced by the use of a unique narrative structure. It is comprised of a layering and entwining of two fairly disparate stories. One of these stories is among the greatest (and yet, not widely known) triumphs of World War II . The second story is a multigenerational American family epic. . . . → Read More: Leeway Cottage
The Time Traveler’s Wife is easily one of the best books I’ve ever read. And I’ve read a lot of books. In fact, I was so impressed by this book that I was completely floored to learn that it was Niffenegger’s first novel. . . . → Read More: The Time Traveler’s Wife
I’m definitely not a fan of the mystery genre, nor do I tend to read fiction of the crime, horror, thriller or suspense varieties. So for me, reading Caleb Carr’s The Alienist involved a jaunt into fairly unfamiliar-genre territory, right from the start. In the end, I think it was the soft, grainy, vintage photograph on the cover, evoking a strong and enticing sense of turn of the century New York city, that compelled me to pick up this book and see if it couldn’t capture my interest. . . . → Read More: The Alienist
There is something particularly odd about finishing off A Million Little Pieces and then delving directly into Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt. These books would, after all, appear to have a fair bit in common. But there’s a reason why McCourt received a Pulitzer Prize, while Frey got a spanking from Oprah on national television.
. . . → Read More: Angela’s Ashes
know I’m heading into tricky territory because for the first time ever, I feel compelled to preface my thoughts about a book with a justification as to why I read the book in the first place. But that’s the thing about James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces, isn’t it? The publicity and the controversy have long since overshadowed any consideration of the relative merit of the book as text.
. . . → Read More: A Million Little Pieces