I got about halfway through The Violinist’s Thumb by Sam Kean before the library asked for it back (and I’m happy to give it up). It’s a book about genetics, and by book I mean a loosely connected bunch of interesting anecdotes about genetics. The anecdotes are footnoted with other anecdotal digressions in the back of the book, at least one of which refers to the author’s website for further digressions. Good grief. Perhaps books should be written for reasons other than to show off the author’s knowledge of a topic.
For all of the book’s colorful stories I had a lot of trouble getting through it. The author writes with a forced informal style so loaded with slang and obscure references as to arrest the flow of the narrative. I wonder how English readers outside the United States would ever understand it.