This is going to be such a short review, for the most part because there’s just not a heck of a lot to say. In fact this is really more of a “just letting you know where I’m at” post rather than a book review, so apologies for that.

You know how some books just give you happy reading, nothing special, nothing to really jump out and grab you, a few irritants, but then you’re finished and there you go?

Yeah, that was this book. A fictional account of the life of the woman who would eventually become Madame Mao, it’s a relatively enjoyable read with only minor quibbles regarding the constant jumping between first and third person. That I could have done without. And to be honest the actual non-fictional accounts of many of the people and the history of China in the 20th century is so, well, mad, that it almost seems a bit superfluous to fictionalise any of it.

All in all, an okay read.

And to make up for this brevity, please to find this damn fine review of Wolf Hall, by Christopher Hitchens in The Atlantic. I love the internets that it allows me to read stuff like this.