I thought I was done reading Nobel-prize winner Jose Saramago. I loved his earlier work but was disappointed with books from his later years. But I came across The Elephant's Journey in the Milan airport bookstore, and it seemed like just the kind of trifle to occupy me during a nine-hour flight to New York: a fact-based fable about an elephant traveling from Lisbon to Vienna in 1551.
And indeed it was. The story was pleasant, written in Saramago's signature digressive style. It featured too little of the titular elephant, in my opinion, but it was a light "beach read" perfect for travel.
And indeed it was. The story was pleasant, written in Saramago's signature digressive style. It featured too little of the titular elephant, in my opinion, but it was a light "beach read" perfect for travel.
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