“Fret not, my son. None of us is perfect. It is better to have crooked legs than a crooked spirit. We can only do the best we can with what we have. That, after all, is the measure of success: what we do with what we have.”
Robin is a boy whose father expects him to be a knight. When his father goes off to war, Robin is left alone and falls ill. His legs are slightly crippled afterward. Some monks come to his aid and he learns to “do the best with what he has.” Recommended.
This was not my cup of tea. I don’t need an exciting plot to enjoy a book. I don’t mind older men looking back on their lives. In a similar vein, I loved Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead, although I hated Roth’s Everyman. This was closer to Everyman.
Max is a widower that is overly sensitive to smells who is grieving (I guess?) over his wife. He calls her the “c” word and admits he really didn’t know her because he preferred not to know her.
Not one character in the book was likable. I guess I was lucky this was short.
