I'm still reading The Watchmaker's Daughter by Sonia Taitz, and this memoir of a daughter of two Holocaust survivors is very good. 
Last night I read this passage and smiled because I'd get to share this bit of lint with you:
Will he greet my damp-faced, round-cheeked mother in her housedress, wearing pink kid shlurkes on her feet as she spreads the dust around with a lint cloth or boils up some exhausted white chicken?
This author candidly exposes her feelings growing up as the only daughter (she has an older brother) of a watchmaker. Her father was a craftsman who was allowed to live by repairing Nazi's watches in the Dachau concentration camp during the war.
This book really has nothing to do with lint but has a lot to offer on the history of a family and what it means to be a the child of World War II Jewish parents.
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