After a much-longer delay than I had hoped for I am finally reading Philip Roth's 2004 novel, a fictional memoir of his imagined childhood as Jew during Charles Lindbergh's presidency, covering roughly the years 1940-1942. I am currently about one hundred pages in, and it is a very compelling narrative so far, richly textured with observational detail, making me eager to find out what turn the story will take next.
I have never read anything by Roth before and I have the impression that this work is somewhat atypical of his writing, not just in terms of subject but in style as well. But I would be inclined to try more Roth in the future if this book continues to be as good as its first three chapters have promised.
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