Bollywood chick lit! I borrowed this debut, about a single hotel manager in New Delhi, from my mom while on vacation and it was surprisingly good. I'd definitely read this author's next book.
Whoever put this guy up at BEA with James Ellroy did him a solid. Harrison wasn't allowed to get many words in edgewise, but most people who came for the free copy of BLOOD'S A ROVER also picked up a copy of his novel RISK, a cool and current noir.
A friend of mine on Goodreads gave this book two stars but called it "a cute little story about New York in the magical mid-century days." I wouldn't say run out and get this memoir about an Iowan in New York in the summer of 1945, but I needed a breather and this did the trick.
Worst. Cover. Ever. But when seven copies of this book showed up at once on my library's New Releases shelf, I got curious. I imagine they give this book to head-injury patients to determine whether they've suffered a concussion or not, because that is the only condition under which this book is at all coherent. My favorite parts are the mini-essays by coaches and friends, the theme running through which being "Whatever it is, it's not Chad's fault." Does not bode well for the inevitable Morningside/Manhattanville/Warlem community read.
Just kidding, I was always planning to read this book, and it was even worse than I had expected -- so bad in fact I couldn't even find anything funny to mock about it. All that money and they couldn't even have hired a decent ghostwriter.
No comments:
Post a Comment