Melody Murray's Books

I recently read an article that questioned the current trend of everyone penning a memoir. This book, to me, exemplified said trend. A memoir about real estate? I picked it up for the clever title, which now strikes me as the best thing about the book. It would have made a delightful magazine article. There were amusing passages, to be sure, and Daum is a competent writer but there's not enough here, or too much. The author's endless fascination with her own reactions to parquet and hexagonal tiles was about as interesting as watching paint dry. A life less ordinary, it's not. There were enough interesting characters to keep me from tossing it back in the library bag unfinished, but I can't recommend it unless you have a deep and abiding interest in real estate. Which I have found I do not.