This is a sort of memoir by proxy, in which Stein purports to write an autobiography of her lover Alice B. Toklas, but which mostly consists of Alice's observations of Stein herself, and of the arty society with which the two women surround themselves during their time together in Paris. There's a lot of gossipy stuff about artists such as Picasso which was interesting to read, but I'm in two minds about the presentation.

According to Wikipedia it was written in about six weeks, and I can believe it. There's a very well constructed stream of consciousness going on here but I have to admit that - while I often liked the effect - it had a tendency to put me to sleep. A few pages was reliably enough to make me glaze over and fall into a state that wasn't quite tedium but wasn't quite enjoyment either.