Only mediocre to pretty good allowed.
Seriously.
I've had a run lately of reading those kinds of books that you really don't want to stop reading. You want that tram trip to be just a bit longer, you lie in bed at night wishing the book would be just a bit boring so you could go to sleep, you sit at work dreaming of going home "sick" so you could start reading again in the elevator as you leave.
And even when you're not reading you're thinking about it.
I wish I could say the books I'm referring to (in my recent history) are Dostoevsky and Balzac or something. But no, sadly. I'm talking about Follett and Corbett.
Yes, that is Ken Follett. *cough cough*. Someone handed me a copy of Pillars of the Earth years ago and I devoured it. I then ummed and ahhed for awhile when World Without End came out, but was recently given a kindle (which I LOVE!) and it seemed the perfect book to get me going. And oh how addictive it is reading about plague-ridden England and the construction of bridges. Oh yes.
And Corbett? Who the heck is Corbett?
Claire Corbett, to be more precise, is the author of When We Have Wings, a novel I was sent for review recently. Another of those books that certainly has its flaws, but just grabs you, sucks you in, leaves you wondering what happened to your good sense and makes you dream about flying.
And I'm now busily consuming Benjamin Law's The Family Law, which has me guffawing in trains, tittering in lunch break sushi joints and smirking at my desk when I peer into my bag and read a passage.
More on Law later methinks.
But in the meantime I'm going to seek out average books. Find myself something that's enjoyable but forgettable. Something that will send me to sleep.
Actually, Dostoevsky probably just about fits the bill...
No comments:
Post a Comment