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    <user id="419287">
    <name><![CDATA[Jessica]]></name>
    <location><![CDATA[New York, NY]]></location>        
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  <id type="integer">130219</id>
  <isbn>159017061X</isbn>
  <isbn13>9781590170618</isbn13>
  <ratings_count type="integer">73</ratings_count>
  <text_reviews_count type="integer">12</text_reviews_count>
  <title>The Day of the Owl (New York Review Books Classics)</title>
  <average_rating></average_rating>
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  <link>http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/130219.The_Day_of_the_Owl</link>
<author>
  <id type="integer">44709</id>
  <name>Leonardo Sciascia</name>
  <ratings_count type="integer">373</ratings_count>
  <text_reviews_count type="integer">43</text_reviews_count>
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    <rating>3</rating>
  <votes>3</votes>
  <spoiler_flag>false</spoiler_flag>
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  <recommended_for><![CDATA[]]></recommended_for>
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  <date_added>Tue Oct 20 19:39:15 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Tue Oct 20 20:22:49 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[New York Review Books covers: designed especially to console us poor schlumps who can't have Prada shoes? Maybe not, but they do help that bitter pill go down easier.<br/><br/>I feel like Italians are better known for fashion and food than for their fiction. I did enjoy this spare, oddly poetic and mostly-dialogue 1960s detective novel about mafia killings in Sicily, but I couldn't help daydreaming hungrily about clothes, art, and sex. I know actually nothing about Fascism or the Mafia, so a lot of this book's context was too obscure for me, though in sort of a seductive, cool, <em>Italian</em> way... In the future I'd check out another Leonardo Sciascia, but I might be more likely to read a nonfiction history of twentieth-century Italian history and politics, especially if someone would give me a specific suggestion.<br/><br/>Now I want to go to Italy, but my clothes suck too bad.<br/><br/><br/><br/>I know this review doesn't really say much about the book, but that's because, for once, I don't have much to say about it.]]></body>
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