It’s Saturday morning, about 6a. I’m the only one up. Usually my wife is up by now but she has to work a very long day on Fridays - 14 hours - so she deservedly sleeps in on Saturdays when she can.
I’m trudging through a book that is at the same time fascinating and frustrating. It’s one of the two that I mentioned earlier I plan to review for this blog. I’m always very torn when I don’t love a book which I’ve been given to review. First, the book was free so I feel like I owe someone a positive reveiw. Second the book was published and I have an idea of the incredible amount of work that went into doing so. Third, whether I like it or not, the writer has been judged on some level to be a better writer than myself - I haven’t published a book - so I have to wonder if I even had the right to not like it.
But I’m torn about this book for other reasons. It’s written in first person so to read it is to live in the writer’s head. I only point this out because with every page I am more and more annoyed with every character in the book, especially the narrator. Even so, I can’t help but be fascinated by the story and continually drawn to turn the page. On that level I have to admit that the book is a success.
I’m still not sure how I’m going to review it.
But that’s not what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about an English teacher of mine who died during my junior year of high school. I’ll do that later. I’ve noticed that my entries here tend to ramble so I’m making a conscious effort to shorten them.
If I’m going to do that then I’d better stop this entry right now.