So Many Books, So Little Time by Sara Nelson

This memoir caught my eye at a recent trip to the library, and I couldn't resist the chance to delve into the experiences of a so-called "passionate reader". Well, 41 pages later (I tried, but it became a dreaded chore to even try and make it to 50!) the book fell out of my hands as I slipped into a coma.

I can't imagine how anyone could find this book interesting, to be honest. I hate to use such damning words, but there it is. So Many Books, So Little Time amounts to little more than the stream-of-consciousness of an obsessively self-analytical person with very few original thoughts. I am sure Sara Nelson is a nice person; in fact, I think she and I could probably find quite a bit to talk about if we ever sat down together to discuss books. The problem is that in this book she comes across as unrelentingly dull. I can tell her strength is as a book reviewer; the few glimmers of high-quality writing in here are the paragraphs she devotes to summarizing and describing the books she has read. In between, though, there's little to recommend this book. Nelson fails to make me care about her project to read a book a week for a year; she does not say anything terribly interesting or thought-provoking when she rambles on for paragraph after paragraph about why she reads, why other people read, how she reads, how she chooses her books, how she discusses books with her husband, the history of herself as a reader, blah blah blah.

Next!

The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets by Eva Rice

I picked this one up based on the strong recommendation of the Bookseller to the Stars, who named it his book of the year for 2006. With such a rave review, I thought I might enjoy this title described as an "old-fashioned good read". Unfortunately, the book utterly failed to grab me.

The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets is the story of a friendship between Penelope, the youngest female member of an aristocratic family that has fallen on hard times post-WWII, and Charlotte, a girl she meets at a bus stop one day. Penelope and Charlotte strike up a friendship, and... well, that's about all you get in the first 90 pages. At some point I just put the book down and never picked it up again. Penelope as a character seemed utterly dull, without hope of redemption from dullness within the next 90 pages. Charlotte, who was supposed to be so amazing and sophisticated from Penelope's point of view, also seemed pretty uninteresting. Unfortunately, nothing exciting happens to either of these girls during the first few chapters - tea with Charlotte's aunt, a dinner party at Penelope's crumbling mansion, and a walk in the snow... zzzz... - so I didn't feel compelled to keep reading.

Piece of My Heart by Peter Robinson

Inspector Banks is back, this time investigating a murder that takes him all the way back to the glory days of a sixties rock band called the Mad Hatters. As Banks struggles to determine who killed a rock journalist staying in a remote Yorkshire village, and why, Robinson takes us on flashbacks to another murder investigation 35 years earlier, showing the experiences of DI Stanley Chadwick as he hunts for the murderer of a beautiful young girl killed at an outdoor rock festival.

The storytelling here is flawless; I found I was sucked into both stories, and was just as keen to read about Chadwick as about the more familiar Inspector Banks. It took quite a while for the two stories to finally "connect", so part of the mystery was trying to figure out how they were related to each other aside from one really obvious way. This was an enjoyable novel which I would have liked to read much more quickly, if I'd only had time. I thought the ending was a little bit weak; it can be very hard to wrap up a crime novel effectively, though, so I'm trying not to be picky.

Dead Man's Folly by Agatha Christie

Well, what can I say? Dead Man's Folly is a fairly typical Hercule Poirot novel. A cast of suspicious characters who aren't being completely open with the police, who are of course baffled by the mystery of who killed the victim. And then the little grey cells do their usual miracle and there you go. Another successful episode in the life of Poirot.

Sometimes I just need a little bit of fluff like this, and as such it fit the bill admirably.

Julie & Julia by Julie Powell

Julie Powell, a New York City secretary in a fit of angst over the lack of direction in her life, decides to spend an entire year cooking every single recipe in Julia Child's seminal cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. This book is the result of her conscientious blogging efforts over the course of that year as she sort of masters the art of some of the recipes, cursing up a storm as she does so. And it's actually quite riveting.

At first I wasn't sure if I was going to like this book. Powell's tone is just a little bit too self-deprecating; I think she enjoys making fun of herself, but it often veers into the realm of narcissism. However, her descriptions of her cooking experiences kept me reading. I don't remember the last time that I was so utterly overwhelmed by a feeling of amused, shocked disbelief as I was when I read Powell's description of how she cut up a lobster. I laughed out loud at her description of her brother and husband helping her to cut up a marrow bone to extract beef marrow for a steak sauce. I cheered her on as she tried over and over again to make mayonnaise by hand.

If you like to watch The Food Network and enjoy reading slightly off-colour memoirs, this book is definitely for you.