Fellow YWSer Claudette recently finished up with The Portrait of Mr. W.H. by Oscar Wilde. And at 58 pages, it was evidently quite the read:

This story was… short. hahah. As expected, but beautiful. I do not see the great meaning behind it, as I had been told through biographies of Wilde, that was there, so I might have to read up on it. It’s a strange sort of essay. I’m just glad to say I had read something. And sure, it is technically not a book, but it is binded, and it can sit on a shelf, so, as far as I consider it, it is a book!

Intriguing!  What do you think?  Is anything binded really a book?