I'll start by saying that this is probably the worst book I' ve ever read. The story is so sugary sweet that just the thought of it is making my teeth ache. The auto-biographical story starts well enough with Susan Loomis attending a cookery school in Paris. However, it quickly plummets to its depths (and stays there) when she and her husband buy and then systematically wreck a very old house in France. Wonderful stories of sinking lights into ancient beams, pouring concrete floors and heightening door lintels that had been there for centuries. Each chapter revolves around some slight happening in their years in France. She speaks (again and again) of the shop keepers and carpet salesman who must have rubbed their hands in glee when they saw her coming. Each chapter extolling their virtues and repeating each element of it at least twice. I was fascinated by the book and the paucity of the writing "I have an intense intellectual love of water" is just one such gem that kept me glued to the pages until the end waiting for the next story where everything was bound to turn out wonderfully. As you call tell, I still haven't stopped talking of it and telling friends of it.
There is hope for all writers out there when this drivel sells into its 5th edition. Maybe there is a sacharine starved population out there, I hope they find this book, and gorge on it.

Released on Monday, September 22, 2003 at Sent to another book crosser in Richmond Upon Thames, England United Kingdom.

Sent to book-crosser Millie

Thanks a lot to Smudger for passing this on to me! Do I mean that? I concur with all of his comments, this is a dreadful book; I am amazed it was ever published at all. It is so syrupy, badly written, and poorly edited.

I thought it would be a good holiday read, but within a few chapters, I was howling in disbelief as Susan Loomis's perfect life reached another of its trite little pinnacles. But underneath all the "and when we cleaned the tiles, we found they were original 12th Century - which was nice" there is the most sickening air of smug self-centeredness that makes me utterly dislike Ms Loomis, her out-of-it husband and their obnoxious child. I know Americans get a bad press, and I am sure much of it is undeserved, but a woman who:
* takes pride in ripping out the interior of an ancient house;
* decorates the outside at Christmas in that naff way Americans have and _does not even buy the tree locally_;
* suggests the homeless are made to clean up the local church (while never showing any involvement in it herself - except for rowing with the priest);
* takes clothing and furniture that are donated to a charity (without ever mentioning giving anything back); and
* manages to both praise and harshly criticise french shop owners all in one go (see the chapter about Chez Clet)
only serves to confirm this reputation. Pity poor Louviers for having the Loomises living there!

Smudger has already taken the quotation that made me squeal with delight / horror - the one about her intellectual love of water, so I shall choose another gem - let's open the book at random . . . she is sighing because, at the state's expense, her son is being taught "mathematics, spelling, poetry, writing, and reading" and she wishes he was learning Stonehenge to Star Wars: a Celestial Odessey with special focus on the Anasazi Indians. A prime example of this silly woman's confused priorities.

292 pages, about about 200 pages too many.

Released on Saturday, November 29, 2003 at Donated to a charity shop in Richmond Upon Thames, England United Kingdom.

Cancer research campaign shop on the corner of Water Lane. Ms Loomis can do some good after all . . .