I finished this book just a couple of days after finishing Ann Patchett's book of personal essays, so I'll do my thing of juxtaposing books. I'd say Patchett's book is very much a collection of personal essays by a famous novelist, while in this book, the essay seems to be the genre that Doyle is the most accomplished and fluent in. The difference is that Ann's essays tell us about Ann, while Doyle's essays are little works of art all in themselves. He really does put together sentences like no one else. Doyle died young (60) a few years ago, so the book has a poignancy as well, when I consider the beautiful essays that were never written.