The Expat Book Club

So, I have a confession.

Ready?

I'm a major book snob. I blame it on my English teacher junior year of high school. After heckling him about the literary merits of Harry Potter (I'm not so much of a snob that I don't appreciate the Hogwarts gang), he told us that, reading was like eating. Dessert, every once in a while is great, but if you were to try and survive solely on sugary delicacies, you'd get a stomach ache. Not to mention, it wouldn't be very healthy for you. So, from that day on, armed with that metaphor, I viewed reading as feeding my brain. Confronted with a new book, I ask myself, is this literary spinach, or the book equivalent of a ho-ho.

So, when I found this book on my bookshelf at the Chateau, I was skeptical. I considered -please don't hate me - the Di Vinci Code a little over appreciated (this also to do with the fact that I majored in art history in college and couldn't get behind his far fetched art theories), so a book that was compared to this Dan Brown novel made me a little nervous.

It was awesome. And perfect for train travel - not too much of a mind bender, but something to keep you happily engaged as you watch the scenery rush past.