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I'm about three-fourths through Waiting for Snow in Havana, by Carlos Eire, his memoir of growing up in Cuba before and after the revolution and becoming a refugee in the US at the age of eleven as part of Operation Peter Pan. This is beautifully written and evocative; I find the prose dazzling although I see by reviews that some don't care for the way the author pursues associations and jumps around. At 16 hours, it's a little long for a childhood memoir and I probably would have broken it up with something else, except that I foolishly cut back my borrowing period at OverDrive and decided just to push through. That said, this is still the best memoir I've read in years and could bring me back to liking memoirs as a genre, as I had rather gone off them.
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