This really is a good book, you know. Oh, and by the way, it's called "The Children's Book", but it isn't a
children's book. It is very well written, bursting with information, full of vivid images, fascinating, impressive, at times even moving.
Well, everyone knew there's going to be a but.
I'm thinking of a kind of painting by Dalí or thereabouts, which is composed of hundreds of bright things, some of them radiant, some of them broken, all of them very lifelike - but the net result looks like a completely lifeless tangle. And because of the brilliance of individual things, you're drawn to it and can't stop looking, even though the picture as a whole almost revolts you.
This is it.
I couldn't stop thinking about the book even when I wasn't reading, but I didn't like what I thought. Still, if you are not squeamish (and I mean especially sexwise squeamish), I can quite recommend it.