Category: Book Reviews

Book Reviews

A review of The Enigma of Arrival by VS Naipaul

Neither memoir nor story, the descriptive detail is fine, but it lacks any overall movement, is slow going and painful to read, and ultimately leaves the reader with nothing more than a brief impression of the mental state of the…

A review of Step Across This Line by Salman Rushdie

The essays in this collection are, without exception, witty, intelligent, acerbic, moving, thoughtful and above all, truthful. Celebrating secular freedom of thought and speech, personal responsibility and courage, together they form a thesis. The book reads quickly, and all of…

A review of One Note Symphonies by Sean Brijbasi

Brijbasi makes connections that have nothing do with sequence of events or prominence of character. It is, in fact, juxtaposition that rules. Nothing is placed next to another in the way that you would expect but each element is very…

A review of An Angel in Australia by Tom Keneally

Although this is primarily a novel of plot – a fine story, rather than a difficult exploration of ideas, Frank’s attempts to reconcile a personal morality which makes sense in terms of his own experiences with the Church’s morality is…

A Review of Portraits in Fiction by A S Byatt

It is likely that, as an writer who works solely with words, however visually descriptive these words may be, Byatt is naturally biased. Portraits in Fiction is nevertheless, exactly what literary criticism should be, provocative, well researched, well written, enjoyable to read,…

A Review of Pasta e Sugo by Maria Ponte

If you are a beginning cook, and looking for a no-frills, easy to use cookbook with a number of well known pasta dishes, Pasta e Sugo might not be a bad choice, otherwise serious pasta lovers may be disappointed with the lack…

Imagination, or, The Delicate Art of Eric Kraft

The Delicate Art of Eric Kraft The cumulative effect of Kraft’s work is of a sober humor that refuses easy answers however much self-indulgence may appear on the surface. The latter becomes the lie of art by which we come…