Books I Read in November? Not many. Why? Because it took me all the live long month to read The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt.
(More on this later.) My four November reads took me back to the delightfully old-fashioned world of Anne Shirley, into the suspenseful and isolated life of the Blackwood sisters, along the streets of New York to a quirky “almost” wedding, and into the dark underworld of grief and life and art.
If we judge my month by the books I read, November was filled with color and heat: crimson sunsets above a boneyard ten feet deep, an explosion, the bone-jar slam of it, the unpretentious bouquet of early-blooming parentheses (((()))).
Without further ado.Continue Reading