Bold The Birth Of Fine Art

Very often, I come across a book with a title that makes perfect sense. This, of course, should come as no surprise to anyone, for a title is meant to describe what is in the book. Still, there are times when it may feel as though something is lacking from either the work or the title, leaving the match apt but still somehow lacking. I’m glad to say that is not the case this time. Bold is exactly that.

The book is short–just over two hundred and fifty pages–and looks like the sort of thing that can be breezed through, but it contains far more than it appears to. It holds powerful emotion, and the pages are filled with rage, scorn, and hope. Each segment of writing presented by the author is short, but that only means it gets to the heart of the matter rather than wasting time with an introduction and conclusion that would only restate what has already been said. At times the writing feels abrupt, but that encourages the reader to pause and put forth the effort to understand what has been written. You will not be spoon-fed with this book.

I read the book entirely in order, from the first page to the last, but in retrospect, that may have been a mistake. This isn’t an ordinary book of essays, to be read while settled in a comfortable chair after a long day at work. This is a book that demands action, even as it forces the reader to decide just what that action should be. It is a book to be read both piecemeal and thoroughly. When you have time, you should certainly read every segment, but you should also flip through the book, reading those pieces that call to you most at that particular moment.