The LONGEST month.
I managed to narrow 145 books (so far!) down to ten.
I still have my reservations.
Confessions of a Bookseller is interesting and humorous, and shows that bibliophiles aren't necessarily a solitary bunch.
In Freak Like Me, Malcolm McLean recreates the 90s as I remember it, without sugar-coating the aspects that weren't so good.
Imagine how much I'd read if I didn't need to sleep quite so much.
In My Name Is Why, Lemn Sissay blends official documents and personal recollections and reflections to create a devastating narrative and damning indictment of the systems that failed him growing up. I found myself considering the nature of autobiography, and what makes this one particularly unusual and compelling.
The quicker I write this, the sooner I can get back to reading.
The three instalments of the Eliot Chronicles succeed in being both old-fashioned and surprisingly modern and relevant.
I will review a book series this month. I've made notes and everything.