I genuinely love the title of All Cats Are Introverts by Francesco Marciuliano. The book, however, isn’t really as great as its title. And, to be fair, I don’t exactly expect a lot from books like this. I’ve said it in the past, but they are ultimately the sort of books you peruse in the card section at Walmart or Target or while bored at the doctor’s office. They’re not the sort of books I would ever buy for myself, and therein lies the level of value I get from them. Honestly, this book really isn’t even very memorable.
I’m sure that I laughed a few times at some moderately clever commentary on how cats can relate to introverted people. I’m sure that several of the poems felt vaguely relatable. But the fact of the matter is that this isn’t a book I recall well nor is it one that I care to read again. And sure, I could say that I found it somewhat entertaining when I read it, but reading All Cats Are Introverts truly didn’t do anything for me in the end. And I’m left wondering what was the benefit of reading it in the first place?
It’s not a bad book by any means, but it’s definitely not a good one either. And while I can appreciate the moderately amusing pieces that I’m sure I enjoyed when I read it, that appreciation doesn’t truly last. Thus the book just becomes one in a long list of writing that I read but will never remember.
I was provided a free copy of this book via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.