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
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