This is Rachel Weiss's second book on Prague (Me, Myself and Prague appeared in 2008). Given the threadbare narrative, and some ugly First World attitudes, I'm afraid the trees should have been left standing. There is one wonderful paragraph that the author, typing for a fast-speaking grants-application whizz she has met through the Jewish community, later reads back to find: "this exteremembly amamxing pofject is best of all of Czech repbucli never pbefor has beensn seen 20 people from sifdif-fernct cutlrues like czehc gypsiy soflove hunafatrian jewish non-juewish acome totbet erther to teach children art and through art to find jewish cultutter. Some people finds tht athy have discovered juewsihs roots they never suspect but have kept hem quiet ecause of comun ism". Joyce would have been proud. Sadly, the remainder is less inspired.
