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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[I just finished this book and I have no idea what I just read.  Something about a father dying, his son dying, and how their lives meet only once more after the son is grown.  I don't know.  Passage of time, death is inevitable, clocks are like the universe, blah blah blah.  Here is what I think the...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/55181069">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[<p>&quot;<em>Tinkers </em>is truly remarkable. . . . It confers on the reader the best privilege fiction can afford, the illusion of ghostly proximity to other human souls.&quot;-Marilynne Robinson, Pulitzer Prizewinning author of <em>Home </em>and <em>Gilead</em></p><p>An old man lies dying. As time collapses into memory, he travels deep into his past where he is reunited with his father and relives the wonder and pain of his impoverished New England youth. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, <em>Tinkers </em>is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.</p><p><strong>Paul Harding </strong>has an MFA from the Iowa Writers' Workshop and teaches creative writing at Harvard. He lives in Georgetown, Massachusetts.</p>]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[Tinkers is an interesting book.  Well written and unusual.  It’s the story of a man on his deathbed as his mind drifts through memories and emotions and hallucinations, and every once in a while the reader is brought back into the world of the living, given a countdown to how many hours left befor...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/46441146">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[I sometimes felt I was on hullucinogens while reading the elegant beautifully written book. Told in the voices of three generations of one flawed family, it captured my imagination entirely. It's a tough read, you cannot get through this one quickly. I was reading certain sentnces over and over...<br/>...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/36627199">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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  <read_at>Sun Mar 01 00:00:00 -0800 2009</read_at>
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    <body><![CDATA[Wonderful, dense, luminous writing.  An unexpected gem.<br/><br/>Through the intertwining stories of three generations of lost and wandering fathers and sons, Harding explores what it means to be alive, to connect or not--to try to find a place both within oneself and outside, with others, a place...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/50750735">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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  <read_at>Tue Sep 01 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
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    <body><![CDATA[This is an amazing book that breaks down barriers of time and perception, allowing openings that are totally unexpected.  This is partly the unhinging that comes with seizure activity, partly the poet's way of seeing, and partly the brain's reorganizing as it prepares to die.  I plan to re-read this...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/69544674">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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  <read_at>Fri Apr 03 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
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    <body><![CDATA[A man lay dying, moving in and out of conscienceness. He is lost to memories of his childhood in poverty in the remote woods of Maine, waking occassionally to hear his family fretting around his deathbed. There are heartbreakingly beautiful passages in this book, especially the story about the homel...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/51963685">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[<p>&quot;<em>Tinkers </em>is truly remarkable. . . . It confers on the reader the best privilege fiction can afford, the illusion of ghostly proximity to other human souls.&quot;-Marilynne Robinson, Pulitzer Prizewinning author of <em>Home </em>and <em>Gilead</em></p><p>An old man lies dying. As time collapses into memory, he travels deep into his past where he is reunited with his father and relives the wonder and pain of his impoverished New England youth. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, <em>Tinkers </em>is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.</p><p><strong>Paul Harding </strong>has an MFA from the Iowa Writers' Workshop and teaches creative writing at Harvard. He lives in Georgetown, Massachusetts.</p>]]>
  </description>
  <published>2009</published>
</book>

    <rating>4</rating>
  <votes>1</votes>
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  <date_updated>Tue Jun 09 14:14:19 -0700 2009</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[I liked it, but it's weird, funny, sad, and sweet.   It's one of the odd books I sometimes like, it's a little bit stream of consciousness, and moves back and forth from character to character while going from the present to the past.  It's about George and his dad, mostly.  Howard (the dad) is a ti...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/59038483">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/59038483]]></url>
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
  </description>
  <published>2009</published>
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    <rating>5</rating>
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  <date_updated>Sun May 24 17:02:34 -0700 2009</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[Wow. Completely blown away by this book's language. I'll tell you what, I never want to play Scrabble with Paul Harding.<br/><br/>Beyond that, the story is unexpected and engaging. It took me places I did not expect. On the outside, it seems like a simple tale. An elderly man lies dying and thinki...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/56593558">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
  </description>
  <published>2009</published>
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    <rating>3</rating>
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  <read_at>Mon Mar 09 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Mon Jan 26 14:06:30 -0800 2009</date_added>
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    <body><![CDATA[<em>Tinkers</em> is a novella that tells the stories of three generations of Crosby men at pivotal points in their lives as they age. George lays dying at the end of his life, recalling his own childhood and the story of his father and grandfather, some of which is seen through the eyes of his father, Howard...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/44433080">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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    <rating>3</rating>
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  <date_added>Fri Jun 26 12:24:05 -0700 2009</date_added>
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  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[This was definitely a different book-at times almost a cross between poetry and prose.  The descriptions in the book were beautiful, and probably deserved a more in depth reading than I gave them.  It made me want to look more closely at nature around me.  There were definitely parts that confused m...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/61203917">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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  <read_at>Wed Apr 15 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Tue Feb 24 11:12:41 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu Apr 16 07:05:51 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Harding's first novel is short, but by no means easy to read.  It treads a fine line between poetry and incomprehensibility, falling far too often on the side of the latter.  The reader is confronted with sentences that ramble on (with terrible punctuation), frequent lists, repetitive phrases, and s...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/47387295">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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  <read_at>Mon May 25 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Sat Jan 03 08:43:20 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Fri Dec 25 09:34:55 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count>1</read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[A door to door sales man named Howard remembers his father's life and his descent into mental illness.  After his father's death Howard begins to have epileptic fits which leads his wife to attempt to institutionalize him.  He gets wind of her plan and leaves her and their four children, marries aga...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/41714448">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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  <read_at>Tue May 26 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Thu May 28 20:53:39 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu May 28 20:55:40 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[A moving and somewhat odd book, Tinkers is largely about an old man who lies slowly dying in the living room-turned-hospital-room in his house. Surrounded by family, he fades in and out, remembering pieces of his life and things about his father. Parts of the book also center on the father. Using th...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/57696976">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/57696976]]></url>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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  <read_at>Mon Dec 01 00:00:00 -0800 2008</read_at>
  <date_added>Fri Jan 02 12:36:15 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Fri Jan 02 12:38:51 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Well, I read it less than 2 weeks ago, and the details haven't stayed with me, so it's definitely not 4- or 5-star material. But I do remember being sucked in by the opening line, &quot;George Washington Crosby began to hallucinate eight days before he died,&quot; and remaining captivated throughout...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/41626168">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/41626168]]></url>
  <link><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/41626168]]></link>
</review>
      <review>
  <id>45483783</id>
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  <text_reviews_count type="integer">50</text_reviews_count>
  <title>
    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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  <average_rating>3.53</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
  </description>
  <published>2009</published>
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    <rating>3</rating>
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  <read_at>Mon Jan 05 00:00:00 -0800 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Thu Feb 05 13:13:42 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu Feb 05 13:22:36 -0800 2009</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[I knew I would have a hard time rating this book.  Some of the writing is sublime, but I found myself wondering whose voice I was reading in this passage or that. Towards the end it became much more readable.  It's a fairly short book, but it took me ages to read it, mostly because I kept falling as...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/45483783">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
  <id>54829584</id>
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    <name><![CDATA[Jessica]]></name>
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  <isbn>193413712X</isbn>
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  <title>
    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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  <average_rating>3.53</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[<p>&quot;<em>Tinkers </em>is truly remarkable. . . . It confers on the reader the best privilege fiction can afford, the illusion of ghostly proximity to other human souls.&quot;-Marilynne Robinson, Pulitzer Prizewinning author of <em>Home </em>and <em>Gilead</em></p><p>An old man lies dying. As time collapses into memory, he travels deep into his past where he is reunited with his father and relives the wonder and pain of his impoverished New England youth. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, <em>Tinkers </em>is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.</p><p><strong>Paul Harding </strong>has an MFA from the Iowa Writers' Workshop and teaches creative writing at Harvard. He lives in Georgetown, Massachusetts.</p>]]>
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  <read_at>Wed Apr 01 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Sun May 03 17:12:31 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sun May 03 17:15:04 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[This is a stunning book; literary fiction that uses clock repair and the passage of time to frame the story of a man's graceful last hours, with a time-shift between his story and his father's story in the snowy quiet of Maine in the last years of the 19th century and into the mid-20th century. A sm...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/54829584">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
  </description>
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  <read_at>Sun May 03 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Sun May 03 23:28:20 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sun May 03 23:34:31 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Taken paragraph by paragraph, this work is very sweetly turned. It stands as near poetry in novel proportion. But for a slow reader, with many distractions and time delays, this just could not hold my attention. It was like reading an oil painting as it is painted. Very cool in a way, but I just cou...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/54862657">more...</a>]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/54862657]]></url>
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
  </description>
  <published>2009</published>
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    <rating>5</rating>
  <votes>1</votes>
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  <read_at>Sat Apr 11 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Sun Apr 12 18:08:32 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sun Apr 12 18:10:01 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[I got this book thanks to Michele Filgate (@readandbreathe) from the River Run Bookstore in NH.  Words are inadequate to describe how beautifully written it is.  I truly believe it was one of the most lushly descriptive books I've ever read.  Lovely, lovely book.  Stacey Gordon, you would love it! ]]></body>
    
  <url><![CDATA[http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/52437859]]></url>
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</review>
      <review>
  <id>72474399</id>
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    <name><![CDATA[Randy]]></name>
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    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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  <average_rating>3.53</average_rating>
  <ratings_count>172</ratings_count>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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    <rating>3</rating>
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  <read_at>Fri Sep 25 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Fri Sep 25 13:00:59 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Wed Nov 04 19:23:29 -0800 2009</date_updated>
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    <body><![CDATA[I kept having flashbacks to Katherine Ann Porter's &quot;The Jilting of Granny Weatherall&quot;, when I began Harding's first novel, especially the beginning when the main character is surrounded by his family while he dreamingly dies off through a silver, epileptic stream of consciousness blur of h...<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/72474399">more...</a>]]></body>
    
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      <review>
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    <![CDATA[Tinkers]]>
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  <average_rating>3.53</average_rating>
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    <![CDATA[An old man lies dying. Confined to bed in his living room, he sees the walls around him begin to collapse, the windows come loose from their sashes, and the ceiling plaster fall off in great chunks, showering him with a lifetime of debris: newspaper clippings, old photographs, wool jackets, rusty tools, and the mangled brass works of antique clocks. Soon, the clouds from the sky above plummet down on top of him, followed by the stars, till the black night covers him like a shroud. He is hallucinating, in death throes from cancer and kidney failure.<br/><br/>A methodical repairer of clocks, he is now finally released from the usual constraints of time and memory to rejoin his father, an epileptic, itinerant peddler, whom he had lost 7 decades before. In his return to the wonder and pain of his impoverished childhood in the backwoods of Maine, he recovers a natural world that is at once indifferent to man and inseparable from him, menacing and awe inspiring.<br/><br/>Tinkers is about the legacy of consciousness and the porousness of identity from one generation the next. At once heartbreaking and life affirming, it is an elegiac meditation on love, loss, and the fierce beauty of nature.]]>
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  <read_at>Sun Feb 22 00:00:00 -0800 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Sun Feb 22 04:53:13 -0800 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Sun Feb 22 07:46:46 -0800 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[Very good. I find the concept of what would be going through someones thoughts as they reach the end of their life interesting, the randomness of it all, their impressions of life going on around them as viewed from a wandering in and out of consiousness compelling.<br/>]]></body>
    
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