Two Books - a review, of sorts

Two books.
A Man Called Ove, and A Gentleman In Moscow.

Both hugely readable, yet so vastly different.
Both made me smile. Both made me pause every now and then, to let the words soak into my heart. Both certainly NOT "unputdownable", for both demand time to relish, to contemplate..
But where Ove drew you to get involved in his story, completely, to be a part of his life's daily routine... Without once making one feel one was a spectator...
Moscow makes one watch not merely the characters, as if one a stage, it makes one aware that one is, perhaps, witnessing a master puppeteer at work. The characters, the story, everything is spellbinding. But, more than all, what captivates is the beauty of the language. The AUTHOR is the hero, here, firmly capturing ones attention with every turn of a well built phrase, on almost every page.
Rarely has a book shone purely for the felicity of language, as this.
I resist, meanwhile, the urge to discover more about Amor Towles. Where Frederik Backman gave us Ove selflessly, Towles makes sure he's done us a favour, and what's more, makes sure that we know it.
A master at work