The closest I’ve come to really discussing the physical book in a book review was one I wrote about Tom Montag’s The Big Book of Ben Zen. There were special circumstances, too: his Ben Zen poems make interesting uses of space, and the book’s margins accentuate that.

Every book may not prompt the approach you use here, sure. I think that there are points your review suggests about the physical act of reading that are universal (to speak platonically) to any reading experience, though. So in that sense your approach works for every book.

I like books that make me aware of myself reading. Tristram Shandy‘s dashes and that blank page, for instance. I love a good farce for about the same reason. And I guess poetry often asks for such awareness.