Bookered

I bought the Booker Shortlist to see what the world of lit-er-a-choor thinks is the very best right now. So far I have dragged myself through "The Testament of Mary," a miserable book about self-obsessed individuals in an ancient society that has turned on it's own people whilst being dominated by modernising foreign influence. At least it was short.

Then I dragged myself through "A Tale For The Time Being," a miserable book about self-obsessed individuals in an ancient society that has turned on it's own people whilst being dominated by modernising foreign influence. This one also has the charm of repeatedly detailing ritual abuse of conscripts and school children, then expecting us to sympathise with work-shy "artists" and finally giving the worst presentation of "quantum physics" and "zen" I can imagine. Utter crap.

I got really pissed off reading this drivel on the train into work, determined to finish the damn thing but hating every page. I cheered myself up by deciding I'd finish the book today and I have. What a relief.

Biographies, popular science and text books are my normal fodder and this foray into fiction hasn't been a success. I've learned nothing and not been entertained in any way. Four Bookers to go. Let's hope there's something to like. If not I'll probably never read fiction lit-er-a-choor again.

In contrast, I have volume 4 of Chew to look forward to. Pour myself a large one, put on Goldfrapp's new album and here we go with the continually brilliant and deeply strange, strange tale of policemen who get clues by eating the evidence. Utterly brilliant, thought-provoking and highly entertaining!