Chris's review
The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame
This is one of those books I want to love; I REALLY, really want to love this book. I've read so many essays by book lovers who have fond, childhood memories of being read this by their father, or who ushered in spring each year by taking this book to a grassy field and reading this in the first warm breezes of May. I want to find the tea and boating and wooded English countryside to be slow yet sonoriously comforting, like a Bach cello suite or a warm cup of cider on a cool April night.
But I just find it tediously boring. I've tried it three times, and after about twelve pages I sigh, put it down, and pick up something else. Perhaps my father needed to have read it to me when I was young.
But I just find it tediously boring. I've tried it three times, and after about twelve pages I sigh, put it down, and pick up something else. Perhaps my father needed to have read it to me when I was young.
