My book group rarely agrees wholeheartedly, and to a person, on anything … be it book, what to drink, where to meet –we’ve eclectic tastes that lead to lively discussions What more could we want. Alfred and Emily was the exception that proved the rule: we all agreed. Agreed about the incoherence, lack of depth, failure to engage and wondered about the wisdom of writing memoir with the strong possibility of being recognised as a very unreliable narrator.
Enough said on that, this morning I had the joy of starting a new book, plucked from my to be read basket. One chapter in I can’t wait to get back to Ann Patchett’s State of Wonder. I really enjoyed her writing in Bel Canto and she knows how to plot.
Off to amazon now to see if I can find books recommended last night –The Summer of the Bear and Before I Go To Sleep are on the list. I realise that my to be read basket operates on a one out and two in at the moment –looking forward to some down time at home in France in about 4 weeks to read some of them, or I’ll have search out a bigger basket.
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