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>Seven In July

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>1. Fifth Business – Robertson Davies (I’m going to wait and review all of the books in The Deptford Trilogy when I’ve finished it.)

2. Tete-A-Tete: The Tumultuous Lives & Loves of Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre – Hazel Rowley. (I reviewed this biography in one of my July posts. I’ll post a link soon. Right now, my office’s air-conditioning has been turned off and I’m sweating buckets just typing this.)

3. The Tale Of Despereaux – Kate DiCamillo. (Also reviewed, and ditto on the link, the AC and sweating.)

4. Unless – Carol Shields. (I’ve also reviewed this, but I’ll lay off the heatstroke-induced whining to say that I can’t praise Shields’ writing enough. She made it look so easy, but that just shows how many hours she put into meticulously crafting each phrase.)

5. The Bone People – Keri Hulme. (This novel has a lot of raw power and artistry, but it would have been much better if Hulme had had a Kiwi Maxwell Perkins in her life to help her with shaping, editing and other tasks involving discernment. Although, I found it undisciplined, slightly self-indulgent and often darkly disturbing, I’m glad I read it…kept mixing up Joe from this novel with Jake The Muss from Once Were Warriors, though.)

6. Self-Consciousness – John Updike. (Speaking of self-indulgence, previous reviews, defunct air-conditioning and the rivulets of sweat rolling into my eyes and stinging them…)

7. Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid On Earth – Chris Ware. (My eyes rebelled against the very tiny print in this graphic novel, but I found my ‘Nick Hornby’ magnifying glass and soldiered on. It was definitely well worth it. I was especially captivated by the 1893 storyline featuring Jimmy’s grandfather and the beautiful drawings of the Chicago World’s Fair. I also love the way Ware’s style has been influenced by Gasoline Alley.)

Yeah, only 7 in that 7th month of the year. I don’t know what happened. Ordinarily, my Tough & Cool Inner Bookworm would be sobbing her eyes out, but I told her to can the waterworks so she doesn’t/we don’t die of dehydration.
Fiction was triumphant over nonfiction again, and the humidity and high temperatures have done for me. I’m outta here. First water cooler I stagger onto (into?), I’ll probably marry the damn thing.


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