Title: It's making her money, but it's worthless
Product review: After writing one beautiful book (Under the Tuscan Sun), Frances Mayes has now produced a shockingly awful and bloated chronicle of self-indulgent middle-brow drivel, redolent of boring childhood adventures, septic tanks, monogrammed linen, and 200 kinds of bushes no one cares about (except Ed). If this book were literally tripe, we could at least eat it. As it is, it sits in our lap as uselessly as a dead, hideously deformed platypus.
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