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Title: The only book I hate
Review: I came across this book whilst doing an American Literature course in my English University. I am a self professed literary snob but will read anything that is offered to me, note recent delves into Snagged by Mary Higgins Clark and Lost by Gregory Maguire. I love literature in all its shapes and forms, the printed word is a beautiful thing. Having said that this book is not merely an affront to anyone remotely connected to any war or human induced suffering, but is an affront to language itself. Prager's self obssesed heroine and the author's inate ability to make mountains out of molehills and vice versa combine in a glorification of self indulgence and narcissism. It is not an intriguing study of a mid life crisis as is claimed. As a fan of Bridget Jones, Little Nell and Bartleby I hate this book.
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