I walked into the library a couple weeks ago and there, on display, was a Barbara Kingsolver book that I haven't read yet. It just came out. I've been waiting seven years for her to write another book. "Score!" I thought to myself as I swept it into my arms. I love Barbara Kingsolver books. I love her stories about people and the way she weaves biology and environmental science into the stories. I even like her non-fiction books. This one? Not so much. I read it all though and it got easier as I went on. At first I was tempted to give up because the story seemed so choppy; almost written by a uninterested bystander. The story is a collection of journals by a guy named Harrison Shepard. His journals are published after his death by his stenographer. Harrison is born to a distant father from Washington, DC and a gold digging Mexican mother who is more interested in her pursuit of the next richer guy than her own son. Harrison is bounced around from place to place. On his passive journey, he meets famous historical characters such as Freida Kahlo, Leon Trotsky, and J. Edgar Hoover. Oh, Barbara, get going on your next novel. Don't make me wait another seven years.
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