Alfred J Bruey - Jackson, MI (USA):
This book contains too much detail. It's a detective novel but by
the end of page 485, the detective hasn't been introduced and there's
still no crime. But it's comforting to know that the police station
windows are clean and that the chief is married with three children.
This book suffers from a lack of detail but that makes it
popular with those who are seeking the truth but who don't require
the whole truth. It should never be used in a trial, but
it often is.
This book is not funny, but it appreciates a good joke. In
fact, it will laugh at anything. It's good to have around when
you're telling jokes at a party but it's embarassing to be with
at a funeral.
This book contains nothing original. It has a golden sun setting in
the west, a street that's clean after a spring rain, and a
character who's as happy as a clam. Just quote any cliche -
it's somewhere in this book.
This book wasn't going to be reviewed, but it's very old. This
may be the last Poetry Month that it will live to see
so it deserves this small mention. It thanks all who made this
entire "Library" project possible.
Denise Cottingham - Portland, OR (USA):
This book was free.
I spent my last dime on this book.
This book I ordered and this one ordered me.
This book (poetry) I wrote a bad check for, and later consoled
myself with the title notion "Writing Bad Checks for Poetry."
This book I lost and bought again-- you will be mine.
Every word is underlined in this book.
This back has no cover.
This book has no words.
This book has all the answers.
This book is overdue.
This book is irritating.
This is a sorry book--
this book can bite me and take a hike.
The more I think about it, this book can go read itself.
This damn book.
This book named me.
This book opened me.
This book held me and carressed my ego all night long.
This is one of my favorite books.
I'm all over this book.
This book escapes me.
This book I hoard.
This book I pretend to read.
This book I intend to read.
This book I defend.
This book knocks my socks off, takes the cake, and rocks.
This book kills me.
This book fell in the bathtub. I would be lying if I
said the toilet.
To top it off, this book isn't exactly a book.
What happened to this book?
This book, a gift.
This book, a steal. In the early '80's, my 20-something boyfriend
shoplifted a gigantic hardback anthology of women's literature and brought it to
me when I was ill. It's hard to be mad sometimes.
This book borrowed many moons ago.
This book promises promises.
This book is not mine.
This book was an idea that Annie had suggested when she visited
with Meg last September.
This book is his office dictionary. He highlights words he looks
up. He highlights words. He looks up.
I bought this book for its cover.
This book about addiction has red wine stains on at least one
I finally finished this book.
This book is on longing.
This book is against forgetting.
This book angels fear.
This book has its reasons.
This book is the story of the starry night.