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It’s an all too rare occurrence that I find myself sacrificing sleep to keep the characters in my ears. The Goldfinch was such a book and, despite what I considered an all-too-soap-box-y ending, I thought it was wonderful. Two things happen when I enjoy a book to that extent. One, I insist everyone around me get a copy. (If too much resistance is shown, copies are procured as gifts). Two, I’m ravenous to pursue the author’s other works. To devour their back catalogue, to feel all shaken and entranced once again.
November 28, 2016
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