I was looking forward to the book as I had frequently visited the blog and enjoyed the photographs...however when I started the book I realised a blog doesn't translate into a book. While a blog is a diary (of sorts), a book is a much more concrete and lasting evidence of one's literary efforts (that cannot be changed, once commited to print). These two concepts somehow clash in the book, giving us a picture and a commentary on privilege and choice (someone else made that comment but I hope they don't mind me using it here). Domesticity is not an art, it's a job, and if we're lucky or priviledged enough we may make pretty things out of beautiful, expensive yarns and beautiful, expensive fabrics!
The term used in the title is repeated so often through the book, it became very annoying and lost the meaning altogether. I must confess that I didn't finish the book, I looked at the pictures and flicked through the last 70-odd pages, but the book just became more of the same to me - rather simplistic and self-centred. I do appreciate the fact that all literary output IS, in fact, subjective, but there could have been a balance somewhere there; so maybe the title of the book should have been "The gentle art of domesticity according to me".
I , too, knit, crochet, sew, quilt, bake, try my hand at different crafts, as this is what they are. They probably amount to domesticity, but I wouldn't call them art.
The 2 points I give the book are for the photographs - very good for a coffee table type book.