A gift from a FAR more erudite family member, I brought this book along with me on vacation so I’d no longer have to say “gee, I haven’t gotten around to reading that yet”. The problem now is I can’t get past page 36, and even that was a stretch.
It’s written by a woman who was a copy editor at The New Yorker so you can imagine the hilarity. She talks about The New Yorker being “the bastion of prescriptivism”. Page turner. Not.
She goes into great length about refusing to look up any word online. Ultracrepidate. But you know what that means, right?
Long story short I’m going to have to fib to the person who gave it to me and say I thought the book was great (okay, it’s from my sister who reads about ten books a MONTH). I am worried that I’ll get caught in the fib if she asks me what I thought about the “amazing last chapter”. I’m going on the premise that there is nothing amazing past page 36 and that I’ve done my duty to my sister for reading that much.
I’m reading Provenance now. Much better.