Every now and then, I come upon a book that surprises me and I have to share it. This slim publication by Anne Fadiman is one such book (1998).
I think one of the most important attributes of this book is that it made me look at writing, reading and books, in general, differently. This is the author's love story with books and language and her family's way of embracing both. It may not be for hoi polloi but it was certainly for me.
Writing with remarkable grace, she revives the tradition of the well-crafted personal essay, moving easily from anecdotes about Coleridge and Orwell to tales of her own pathologically literary family.