As of earlier this evening, I have (finally) finished the last Harry Potter book. It sits over there on the lap desk over there like a big orange brick. This was definitely a satisfying conclusion. But what to do now? Start another book, I guess…
Any book that starts out with the narrator suddenly finding her mother rooting through the trash on a Manhattan street just has to catch your eye, right? Right.
Autobiographies: the best ones aren’t necessarily by people who have led extraordinary, event-filled lives, but by natural storytellers (like Walls).
The first such autobiography I remember coming across (and which I would like to read again, if I get an empty afternoon somewhere):