Although Nick Hornby and I have only small circles of intersections in our reading choices, we share a passion for the practice of losing yourself in a book. His collections of essays on what he read (and what he bought) provide fun, laughter, and the occasional addition to my booklist. Sadly, Shakespeare Wrote For Money is the last one, since he no longer writes a monthly column.
I like the heights of emotion books bring him to -- despair over the destruction of the planet, joy over finding a brand new genre to explore (YA), excitement over the new twists of his brother in law's latest book, or anything that he wants to read enough to finish. Good fun, especially for bibliophiles. B+
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