Club Desvelado hasn't reported for a while. Remind Me Who I Am, Again (Linda Grant) is in part a look at an English immigrant family and in part developed from a piece that we happened to read in the Guardian. Grant's publishers encouraged her to develop a book from that first piece, which was about shopping with her dementing mother. This is a distressing, but very honest, book. One of the best anecdotes was about a relative always described as a cobbler, but who read the obituaries and went to the homes of the deceased, asking for their shoes, which he polished up and sold. Chapters from Childhood (Juliet M. Soskice), originally published in the 'twenties, is slight but charming, an echo of the Pre-Raphaelite circle. The Girls (Helen Yglesias) is a novella, a good one, and keenly observed, as "they" say. If the library bothers to keep the books of Yglesias on the shelf, I'd consider reading more of her work. Let Evening Come: Reflections on Aging (Mary C. Morrison) is physically a beautifully produced book as object, but it's a sort of "chicken soup for the elderly Quaker soul." Oddly enough, when this book was entered into the Barnes & Noble search-engine, the bot suggested that anyone who liked it would also probably like a little item called Chicken Soup for the Golden Soul: Heartwarming Stories for People 60 and Over. Perhaps this is the book that, presented to CCH, elicited such scorn from her. These are off to the library.