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Three Weeks with My Brother
… plus one week on an empty beach
Nicholas Sparks — the name ought to be familiar. He’s written enough. The advance for his first novel, The Notebook, rang the bell at $1M and it was made into a movie. Who gets a $1M advance for a piece of fiction these days? 1996 isn’t so long ago except in dog years and publishing.
I googled “million-dollar book advances” and in a split second got back four books by: Bill Clinton, Hillary Clinton, Bruce Springfield and Britany Spears. None were first timers, though Britany’s cover photo had her showing a good deal of skin. Thank god, Bruce didn’t bare any, and that’s all I’m going to say on the subject.
Whoever at Time Warner Books first spotted Nicholas Sparks had a sharp eye for good investments. Sparks has had multiple best sellers and movies since. D says she’s read a few of his novels. Three Weeks with My Brother was his ninth published work, and my first.
Though reading this memoir had little to do with Sparks’ popularity and everything to do with my failing to pack sufficient reading material for the week. The beach house in Duck village we rented for New Years didn’t have much in the way of appealing titles, mostly trade romances — and nary a good bodice ripper in the lot — you know, her overflowing velvety breasts sparkled in the starlight alongside his…
