Bookalicious: The Road

Read The Road on the train today. It’s dark, fantastic and everything but optimistic.
It’s a fast read but still very discomforting and thought provoking.
Photo by Zanzibar

Read The Road on the train today. It’s dark, fantastic and everything but optimistic.
It’s a fast read but still very discomforting and thought provoking.
Photo by Zanzibar

So I finished Sarah Lacey’s book this morning and I didn’t love it. Not to say I hated it but it just seemed a bit to much surface and too little depth.
She makes some good points about entrepreneurship, the valley and the companies she focus on, there is some food for gossiping in there as well.
But I’m having trouble with her way of spicing it all up, twisting the facts and making it into a fictional non-fiction book. Writing what Jay Adelson thinks instead of reading him saying is making me doubt much more that it would have been an interview. Especially since most of the people in the book rarely, if ever, disclose
Love that Flickr writes copy as human talks.
Perhaps I can give Penélope Wednesdays and Fridays, satisfying Scarlett Tuesdays and Thursdays. Like alternate-side parking. That would leave Monday free for Rebecca, whom I stopped just in time from tattooing my name on her thigh. I’ll have a drink with the ladies in the cast after filming and set some ground rules. Maybe the old system of ration coupons could work.
Woody Allen’s Spanish Diary. Easily the funniest I’ve read this week.
(via)

Never have I read 500 pages so fast, this weekend I went cover to cover of Brigh shiny morning. James Frey’s latest.
It was hella good.
It’s rare that I’ve read a book with so grand ambitions and that goes beyond that ambition with both ease and depth.
I can only agree with the NY Times review.
Life magazine, 1947:
On May Day, just after leaving her fiancé, 23-year-old Evelyn McHale wrote a note. ‘He is much better off without me … I wouldn’t make a good wife for anybody,’ … Then she crossed it out. She went to the observation platform of the Empire State Building. Through the mist she gazed at the street, 86 floors below. Then she jumped. In her desperate determination she leaped clear of the setbacks and hit a United Nations limousine parked at the curb. Across the street photography student Robert Wiles heard an explosive crash. Just four minutes after Evelyn McHale’s death Wiles got this picture of death’s violence and its composure.