If it weren’t for the fact that this was a library book it would have quite literally and physically *hit the road*.
As it is, it is metaphorically doing so. It is in my returns bin and it will go back as soon as I can get it out of the house. I will finally and willingly hold up my little white hanky to declare surrender.
All 50+ pages that I managed to force myself to read was some of the worst tripe I’ve bothered to spend my precious time on Earth reading. At no point did that look like changing. I’m quite certain that I could not find any reason whatsoever for this book to be on the 1001 Books list, nor the BBC Top 200. What is wrong with the people compiling those lists? If I wanted to read a badly written teenager’s diary, I would try to find my musings from that time of my life. And the main character, Sal Paradise (seriously!!), is meant to be in his early twenties. I guess. Roughly.
Mindless. Waste. Of. Energy.
Over it. Moving on. Grabbed a few more books to try and erase the memory of it.
So, sitting on the bedside table for my perusal and eventual decision on what to read are, in no particular order:
- Barchester Towers – Anthony Trollope
- A Handful of Dust – Evelyn Waugh
- An angel at my table – Janet Frame
- Grimm Tales – Philip Pullman
- The Regeneration Trilogy – Pat Barker
- The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection – Alexander McCall Smith
- Slow Man – J.M.Coetzee
- The Collector – John Fowles
As you can see I like to give myself a bit of choice to take into account the various *reading moods* that might strike me at any time. Hopefully one of these will erase On the Road for me. Most likely the gentle Precious Ramotswe. Wish me luck!