The first book I downloaded on my new Kindle (which I’m obsessed with, if you missed the memo) was Still Alice. What a book to start the year. The novel is the story of Alice, a woman who discovers, after forgetting how to get home from her run, misplacing her BlackBerry and forgetting the lecture she’s teaching her Harvard students, that she has early onset Alzheimers. The story follows the deterioration of her memory and how it affects her and her family around her.
About halfway through the book, I was convinced I had Alzheimer’s. In fact, so much so, that I wanted to stop reading because it was freaking me out, while at the same time, I wanted to keep reading because I wanted to find out what happened next and test myself (at one point a doctor asks Alice to remember a man’s name, his street address and city). I couldn’t remember the names and numbers, even though I was telling myself, REMEMBER THIS.
And I’m totally justified in thinking I might have Alzheimer’s because my grandfather had Alzheimer’s and the book even talked about how it’s genetic. Oh God.
Anyway, I finished the book and emailed my friend, who had told me she’d read the book.
Me: “Why did you tell me to read this? I think I have Alzheimer’s. I’m freaking out.”
She: “Don’t worry. I can’t remember the guy’s name or his address either. PS EVERYONE who reads the book thinks they have Alzheimer’s.”
Which made me feel slightly better. Just to be sure, I went to the Kindle reviews of the book. Yep, everyone thought they had Alzheimer’s. Need I say more? A story that draws you in so much so that you think you are the main character? That the things she forgets, you’re forgetting. That you’re experiencing the disease and its effects right along with her.
Best book I’ve read this year. And I’m not just saying that because it’s the only book I’ve read so far.
Part celebrity pinata, part scorching social satire, Boldface Names is a fast-paced romp through the land of the rich, the famous, and the wicked. In the eye of the party storm is Ravi, a vertically challenged gossip columnist (and self-confessed “tribe-traveller”), who snoops and schmoozes and amasses gift bags. But all hell breaks loose in the glittersphere when a mysterious D-list starlet is parachuted into Ravi’s life for safekeeping, setting off a high-stakes game of secrets and lies. Adding to the drama? The skeleton in Ravi’s own closet!Boldface Names stops in at all the hottest tickets–the fashion shows, book shindigs, race-car parties, and champagne launches. Adorning the hi-jinks are Govani’s laser-sharp observations on human behaviour, social milieus, and the machinery of gossip. The wisecracks fly at a Noel Cowardesque pace and the action hums. But be forewarned: no one is safe in Boldface Names. 