Unlike The Book Thief, my second attempt at the book club proved a little more enjoyable. The story of the ravages of war on the youth as told by an aging and deteriorating Alzheimer patient. Another interesting narrative, but this time pulled off with far more success.
Writing this review nearly three months after reading it however. I have realised more and more that it is what I would consider an airplane book. A book that you pick up at the airport to entertain you en route, but then kind of forget about once you land, no matter how much you enjoyed it at the time. I guess that is further proof (as if I needed it) that I shouldn't have let my self get so far behind on this goal of review all that I read.
I remember that I liked it - I read it in one sitting with generally means that my attention is sufficiently held by a book. I remember that the imagery was well enough written that I felt that I could almost see these paintings that were being describe; that I could see and smell and feel horrors that would have been Leningrad held in the grip of war and invasion. And I also know that I wanted it to go on longer, that is where it let itself down for me. I didn't find the ending enough of a conclusion to the story.
Three out of five stars
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