I suck at reading.
No, that makes me sound illiterate. Let me rephrase.
I suck at focusing on reading a book through to completion.
There are probably at least 2 or 3 books I can think of off hand that I read half of and never finished. This didn't happen much when I was a kid. Where the hell did I pick this habit up??
Anyway, just finished this one. You guys know I've been chipping away at it. Not that it was a shitty book or anything....it was good. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
I just get distracted easily.
The book's narrated by a dude, an art journalist, who is fascinated by a beautiful & ambitious friend who gets sucked into the art world in pre-9/11 NYC. The book is basically his confession. He has to get this story of this girl off his chest and goes into telling about how she first worked at Sotheby's, networks, goes to work for a gallery, networks, sleeps with men, buys some art, gets tangled in questionable activities, sells some art, and decides, just before the towers fall, to open up her own art gallery. Its not so much that the story itself is enthralling, its the way Martin tells it, and how the story gets weaved and it leads to great imagery in your head while you're reading it.
There are even PICTURES!!
Full color of some of the works being talked about in the story.
How he only picked those 20+ to include....a sweet smattering, instead of an art overload.....I would've like to have seen his process for that.
This one gets 3 out of 5 Warhol Flowers.