Book Review vs. Review of Books

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As I sit here, sipping my Earl Grey and contemplating things to blog about, I'm reminded of a recent task that I placed on the To Do list in my head. I'll have to give a bit of back story on this one; I'll try not to drone on too long.

I've sporadically read the New York Times book review on and off since Josh and I lived in Philadelphia. I love it. It always includes lists of the latest fiction, non-fiction, paperbacks, etc. that you'll see in any Barnes and Noble display. However, the books they actually review, at least from my experience, are not so readily recognizable as your Cornwell's, Patterson's, Meyer's, Robert's, etc. I mark the ones that tickle my fancy and move on to the next, feeling somewhat intellectually fulfilled and empowered, until...

My husband and I were watching a new show on television called "Castle", you know, about the James Patterson-esque writer, albeit much younger, that accompanies an attractive gumshoe muse throughout varying over the top investigations so as to collect more writing material. Last week, Castle, the writer claims to have had one of his books appear in the New York Review of books, NOT the New York Times book review. I turned to my husband and asked, how've I never heard of this? I looked it up. Yep, it's the uber-intellectual book review. On the subscription page, it doesn't address teachers, but professors, to order for their classes.

I didn't recognize any of the latest released books, although I recognized some in their archives. But I feel a little less fulfilled and empowered now. I want to know so much, but there's so much to know.