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A few months ago my friends and neighbors talked me into joining the local book club, Nene Reads. I love to read, but I hesitated because, well, I want to read what I want to read, and I already have a stack of unread books. It's been fun meeting, though, and sometimes books that few people liked have generated a lot of discussion.
I just finished the July book, West With the Night, a memoir by Beryl Markham. I do a one-sentence synopsis of every book we read and read it aloud at the meetings, so here is the sentence for West with the Night:
"Memories of a bush pilot in Africa in the early 20th century: lions and airplanes and barons, oh my!"
I am very ambiguous about the book; parts of it were good, but I really do enjoy books that have a plot, which it did not. This one was a series of scenes that weren't very connected. I guess life is like that. The language was beautiful, the pace was slow, the story meandered at the writers whim. I enjoyed most the descriptions of flying.