One of the select objectives I actually had in mind when I shuffled into Blogland was to share thoughts on books I read. Kind of a One Woman Book Club. Hope was that eventually someone else would have something to say about it...maybe that I am a brilliant literary critic, or even that I am so off the mark I do not deserve to touch the paper on which (insert author's name) has immortalized his genius.
Safe to say that I don't command quite the same breadth of audience as, oh let's just use an example, Oprah Winfrey. So for now will tuck current reading selection into my profile. If the two of you (am I up to two people yet?) are burning to know what's on my nightstand, that's where it will be.
Having said that, realized as I updated this morning that have not said one word about Mr. Wolff's tome, This Boy's Life, which I finished a few days ago.
Well I have exactly one word to say about it. I give it a big fat "Whatever." Synopsis: boy grows up in dysfunctional environment. Subjected to bullying authority figures. Acted out as a result. Maybe that was shocking in the 50s of his youth, but today we call that NORMAL. It was a yawn.
So last night chose my new read: My Life In France. The tale of Julia Child, living in Paris post World War II, learning to cook gourmet French cuisine.
Yep, that pretty much covers all the bases for me.
Seems to have been co-authored, a polite way of saying ghost written. Give the woman a break, she was 91.
Hope this woman's life was more intriguing than the boy's.
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