Is life too short for dreary books?
It’s Monday again and with a head full of flu, I’m not that inspired. Which is why reading a really good book is the obvious answer. Unfortunately, the novel I finished this morning dragged on ad nauseum; I should probably just have put it down. Not only that, but the main character was also a truly whining insufferable individual I spent a whole book with hoping she would finally wake up and discover the world didn’t revolve around her. (She didn’t and remained a horrible wife who cheated, didn’t really pull herself together and when her husband finally kicked the bucket went back in search of her former lover.)
I am not, however, going to mention the book’s name, as I do feel authors work hard to complete their masterpieces and being horrible about somebody else’s efforts is just a poor reflection on you. No one needs a literary rant; a quick star rating on Goodreads is enough. If nothing else at least I won’t attempt to read it again.
That said, it makes me wonder if life is really too short to read awful books? I’ve always been a finish-what-you-start kind of girl, so it is hard for me to let dreadful books lie. This time I really did consider it, but I kept on thinking “this has to improve”.
So my Monday began with finishing up linguistic dross but I am pleased to say I’ve started something new, one of my favourite authors, Lionel Shriver’s new book The Mandibles. Set in 2029 to 2049, it already has Shriver’s perspicacious mind in full throttle. I’m not generally one for science fiction but since the cover declares: “This is not science fiction. This is a frightening, fascinating, scabrously funny glimpse into the decline that may await the United States all too soon…” I’ll probably be fine, if vaguely depressed.
Do you always finish the books you start? What is your advice?