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    <name><![CDATA[Caroline]]></name>
    <location><![CDATA[The United States]]></location>        
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  <id type="integer">1779929</id>
  <isbn>1401303366</isbn>
  <isbn13>9781401303365</isbn13>
  <ratings_count type="integer">4109</ratings_count>
  <text_reviews_count type="integer">1336</text_reviews_count>
  <title>The Middle Place</title>
  <average_rating></average_rating>
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  <link>http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1779929.The_Middle_Place</link>
<author>
  <id type="integer">814940</id>
  <name>Kelly Corrigan</name>
  <ratings_count type="integer">4232</ratings_count>
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    <rating>2</rating>
  <votes>1</votes>
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  <read_at>Thu Oct 29 00:00:00 -0700 2009</read_at>
  <date_added>Thu Oct 29 15:50:57 -0700 2009</date_added>
  <date_updated>Thu Oct 29 17:03:25 -0700 2009</date_updated>
  <read_count></read_count>
    <body><![CDATA[At the risk of offending all the millions of people who made this a bestseller, this memoir bugged me. The narrator came off as pretty childish, still far more focused on pleasing her own parents (particularly her dad) than paying much attention to her husband and two little girls. And having read very frank cancer memoirs like Gail Baker's Cancer Is A Bitch, or more poignant &quot;sandwich generation&quot; memoirs like Sybil Lockhart's Mother in the Middle, I felt like this really glossed over the cancer plotline and anything much more serious in favor of recollections of her happy, dad-centered childhood. She's a witty writer and she describes some funny situations (not to mention some quite serious ones) -- and yet it all left me cold. Most people loved this book, I know, and will think now I must have had a lousy childhood (I didn't) or don't like my dad (I think he's terrific) but it wasn't my cup of tea.]]></body>
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