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It wasn't really a memoir either, it was more a rumination on collecting particular types of toys from e-bay that the author used to play with in the 1950's. To some, I am sure it was infinitely interesting, but to me it was simply 116 pages of heady prose about what a miniature Dale Evans figurine means to the wider world.
The second chapter went into the history of the man who made these toys: Louis Marx who made his fortune on toys in the great depression. This was more interesting that the rest of the pages which dealt primarily with lining up plastic figurines on his desk and contemplating what play means to 50's kids. It reminded me of the sad toys of the Toy Story movie franchise that are getting packed away when Andy goes off to college. Only Toy Story is way more enjoyable.
Also, this quirky tidbit: Louis Marx had a daughter named Barbara Marx Hubbard who rejected her father's cult of capitalism and became a new age speaker/guru. Interestingly enough, I have seen one of her films. I never knew she was heir to a toy empire!
Anyway, the moral of this story is to think really hard before bidding on a book. This blasted 116 pager kept me way down for far too long. I finally finished the review this morning and I feel free.
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