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A friend's husband recently read this book and raved about it. I thought I'd feel the same in that do-good warm and fuzzy kind of way, while also getting a thrill out of enjoying a good nonfiction work. But you know the thing? I'm a little more than a third done, and the real author, David Oliver Relin, just won't shut up about Greg Mortenson. Seriously, with the detail and descriptions he gives, it's like hero worship here. And all these descriptions would be fine if you felt like it was Mortenson writing his first-hand experience, but it's weird reading someone's story, the someone who gets top billing in author credits, and it's written from another person's perspective. Why not just write it from first-person, Mr. Mortenson? It is your story.
Also, he hasn't even started building the damn school yet, and I'm on page 130 out of 331. I get that it's a process. I get that you went through a lot of trouble and many setbacks to fulfill your dream. And I have so much respect for your motivation and dedication. But at the same time, in all these pages, I'm finding out more about the specific materials needed to build a bridge and build a school, when I'm not a contractor and I don't care about that stuff. I want to know, in depth, about how the people of Korphe felt, how Mortenson interacted with them, what exactly drew him to this village over all the others. I'm reading words, but I'm not feeling anything yet. And this is the kind of stuff that could make me bawl just from sheer overflow of emotion. So far, I think it's the writing's fault.
Hopefully we'll become friends after another cup of tea.