I'm going to keep this brief. That's unlike me. Usually, when I say I'm going to be brief, I blink my eyes a minute or two later and find many more words than I'd intended looking back at me. But, this time, I'll be brief. I won't say why; that would jeopardize my commitment to brevity.
I hadn't fully realized that I was in a reading slump (I was still reading, after all--only slowly). But I was in a slump, and this book lifted me out of it.
If my reading life is at all representative of a garden variety reader of moderate to voracious literary appetite, then it's probably a pretty typical that people get so wrapped up in what and how much they're reading, that they forget why they read.
This book is a good reminder of why we read. This one is all about narrative. Not the narrative, as in, the plot. Narrative, as in, "the art, technique, or process" of delivering all aspects plot, character, setting. This book is as much about what the words don't say about plot, character, and setting as it is about what the words do say. Maybe more.
This book is bound to offend some. But as a person who has never fully been able to embrace religion in his own life, I'd have to say that this book, perhaps more than any other I've ever read, made me want to. Odd, since it was written by an atheist--but true.