I’d like to be able to say I read a lot of book reviews. It’s not really the case. The truth is more like, “I glance at a lot of book reviews.” I get the gist. I move on.

But once in awhile, a review is written with such passion that I can’t help but ride the wave–all the way to the end. And this could go either way. Either the reviewer really hates it or the reviewer really loves it. These. These are the most fun to read.

The NYTimes Book Review’s Christopher Buckley really let it fly last Thursday in his review of Tom Rachman’s The Imperfectionists. This is Mr. Rachman’s first novel, and to get a review like this one from America’s top paper, he must be overjoyed. Here’s part of the opening:

I still haven’t answered that question, nor do I know how someone so young — Rachman turns out to be 35, though he looks even younger in his author photo — could have acquired such a precocious grasp of human foibles. The novel is alternately hilarious and heart-wrenching, and it’s assembled like a Rubik’s Cube. I almost feel sorry for Rachman, because a debut of this order sets the bar so high.

The Imperfectionists: Not very imperfect.

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