Apparently I'm still not learning the lesson. With a strong sense of irony, I feel like I don't have the time to write a coherent commentary about Jean-Dominique Bauby's blink-dictated account of his life with post-stroke 'Locked-in Syndrome', in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly.
What's more, I can't bring myself to call this a 'book review' either, as the term for me connotates critique, and how can anyone review or judge the bottom-line nuts and bolts of ugly human life? It is what it is, whether I like it or not.