Rob Doyle! Need I say more? I don't think I've ever read a word he's written that I didn't enjoy. and Autobibliography is no different. It's a book for story lovers.written by a story teller. Rob Doyle maybe my favourite male Irish writer of our times. Genuinely enjoyable book..

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, there’s something so delightful about reading a book about reading books. Books are a very personal pastime, and what books we read can tell a lot about who we are as a person, so in this book, Doyle has effectively bared his soul to us.

Doyle writes so passionately about his choice of books that I can’t help but want to read them all, even ones where the topic wouldn’t normally interest me. Thanks to this book, I have started a t of books mentioned in other books that I hope one day to read.

What is amazing is how each person understands translated and classic books. I’ve read a number of them in my time - not like Doyle in this book - and I think everyone gets a different meaning and feeling from these books, and that’s what makes a book discussion with other bibliophile so fascinating.

This book didn't really make much sense to me. it seemed a confused mess of different genres which skimmed the surface of all of them. if it is memoir it doesn't go into much detail other than the odd anecdote. If it is literary criticism it veers too far from that to present any cohesive viewpoint. If it's an attempt to marry the two then the author fails to successfully pull this off and to the reader there's a constant undercurrent of lack which is disappointing.

For example Piece 5 Arthur Schopenhauers Essays and Aphorysms contains reference to the fact that to the author, this book 'had helped dissuade my younger self from nurturing an excessive fear of death" but then h does not expand on this or give any further details which might frustrate the reader..Tell us Rob because whenever you begin to sound interesting or revealing any depth, you stop.

There is also constant repetition where several essays contain lines similar to "oh I was going to writer a book about that but didn't" This may indeed have been the case but after the third and far from final instance it just becomes irritating and you wonder why on earth these lines have been left in a final edit if not to make up a word count for payment.

Overall the book falls short of the promised exploration of 52 books and a year of reading that shaped the author. The pieces are far too short to go into both personal revelation or literary criticism and the works chosen to examine are particularly obscure to the extent that few if any who read the Irish Times column on which this was based would have ever heard of these let alone read them if I as a highly intelligent extremely prolific and extensive reader had not. I am left with the question "who is this book for?"

I loved this, and then some. A must read for anyone who relishes an afternoon in a comfy chair with a cup of tea reading a book.

In the plethora of Irish auto-fiction in recent years, this stands out as a fresh take. Doyle's is an erudite voice from his stories to reviews to his recent well-told story in the Dublin review of how he became the voice of a car brand.
This book tells his story through reviews of books and authors who have influenced him. The variety is expansive. From Aurelius to Houellebecq and some Freud along the way, he shares intimate details of his story and lays his soul bare. As one of the first books to emerge from lockdown, this gives an added twist as the universal experience which we have all shared. As with his columns on which the book is loosely based it is a book lovers dream as it serves as a reminder of forgotten classics such as Amis' London Fields as well as opinions such as that of Will Self on literary prizes - 'prizes are only for pets'.

Wonderful - one to be dipped into which will never disappoint. Ideal Christmas gift for the book lover

It might not be essential reading, but I really enjoyed Rob Doyle's highly personal "survey of the [52] books that helped shaped me", based on a column he wrote during the pandemic for The Irish Times. His range of reference is wide, his approach is entertaining and revealing (sometimes more so than might be good for him) and you can learn or be reminded about all kinds of books (most not novels), from Bolano and Koestler to Sontag and Didion. The book itself may not deliver on his claim to "admire writers who at least try to live up to Nietzsche's cunning boast that he could say in ten sentences what other writers say in whole books", but it comes closer than many. His style and honesty reminded me of his friend, Geoff Dyer (whose excellent But Beautiful is one the 52) and that is a compliment.