The Lincoln Highway burnt my Sunday lasagna. It kept me awake at night and then called out to me to pick it up again at 05.30, when even the sparrows were still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, because this is a heck of a story. It's a big book at 576 pages but I don't think I have ever read that much book in such a short space of time. As you know, I'm a slow reader. The voice in my head reads at the same speed as me reading a book out loud, and I would never want to skim-read a book as good as this because there is much joy to be found in the use of the language. Having binge read my way through almost all of it, I then slowed down even more as I didn't want it to end, and I saved the final two chapters until my husband was safely out of the house to ensure I could read the conclusion without interruption. It's that kind of book. It's an all-American story, but mercifully without the baseball. Set in the early 1950s, it's a t...