I'm worn out and trying to force myself to look at the positive things in life today, so excuse me while I gratuitously pat myself on the back for a moment. It's okay, see, because I've been instructed to.
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“A MUST READ for 2016! Whether or not you have an autistic child, brother, cousin, whatever… this IS a book you want to get your hands on.”
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“There are many unexpected and perfect small moments. This is a writer in command of her story and her prose, and I’d be happy to read her writing on any subject under the sun.”
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“The storytelling is amazing, and it’s well worth a read whether this is part of your experience or not.”
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“You need to understand that when I marvel at the skill with which ‘No Map to this Country’ engages the reader, draws him into the story, and maintains breathtaking suspense until the very end, all the while effortlessly educating that reader in complex medical discoveries and controversies, this is not the reaction of an easy mark. I am a harsh critic with high standards. If you log onto the back issues of the weekly where I once toiled as a reviewer and type in my name, the first thing to come up will be the letters to the editor written by readers offended by my unflattering evaluations… So when I say that this memoir by first-time author Jennifer Noonan is a dazzling accomplishment, you should understand that I am not blowing smoke.”
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Now back to your regularly-scheduled, self-deprecating, unable-to-take-a-compliment Clodfobble.