memoirs of a master

I'm not the type to read a book over and over again. I did reread where the red fern grows to my sons. At it's conclusion we all bawled like babies. Which was appropriate for Henry, as he was only a few months old and was squirming in a turd. As opposed to my youthful habits I haven't read multiple books by the same author. Before I was 20 I read everything I could by Vonnegut. Cat's Cradle to Hocus Pocus and then I stopped until A Man without a Country.

After the first passage I sat and reflected on the voice of this man who made a reader out of me. His voice hasn't changed. So comforting and accessible (and goddamn funny). I read slowly and steadily. I couldn't put the book down without fear of losing this connection to my past, knowing this was it, his last book.


P.S. Despite the inspiring sales job (it better not suck) Sammy did for The Man Who was Thursday it is actually a really fun, quick read and is also celebrating it's 100th birthday this year. G.K. Chesterton bridges the fantastical absuridity of Lewis Carroll with the stark absuridity of Kafka. Chesterton is a wit and great with dialouge. So if any of you suck asses are still a part of this book-blog-club order it on amazon for $.10 and read it's 200 pages.