I buy a lot of books. It's sort of sad, given that I am supposed to be budgeting and have completely (okay, almost completely) stopped buying clothes, but books call to me. I figure you can buy a paperback for $10, or you can go to a movie for $10 - one gets you a couple of hours of entertainment in a confined space, one gets you hours of entertainment wherever you want them. So, anyway, I went into this book planning to love it. I even caved and bought the hardbound, so anxious was I to start. I wanted this book to be "Pillars of the Earth," I wanted it to be "The Historian." I was expecting grand sweeps across the globe, across centuries, and rich images of life in those places and times. But it isn't that. Honestly, I was expecting more, and maybe expecting too much? I did not read Brooks' first book - the one that won the Pulitzer - "March." But I think I will. Instead of wrapping me up in a story that evolves over space and time, Brooks tries to wrap up each little story into too neat a package, which always left me wanting more. I suppose the fact that I never wanted the book to end, and, more specifically, mourned the end of each segment at the same time that I yearned for the next, should tell me something about how much I actually did like the book. Even so, I disappointed at the end. When Brooks is not tying very neat little bows, she is spinning stories around very neat little cliches, which will leave you feeling like you have read this book before. Others may find great enjoyment in the love stories and family dramas carefully interspersed by Brooks, but I craved to read more of filmy butterfly wings captured on a laboratory slide, of ancient ink-making techniques, or the mysteries that accompany preservation.