I Hate Books - Official!

I spent the day on the beach yesterday, building sandcastles, eating chips (with sand in) and trying to finish reading Let The Right One In. About fifty pages from the end of this 500 page novel, I mentioned to my wife, 'I think I've just realised, I don't like this book.'

She looked at me as though I was stupid. 'It's taken you that long?'

'It seemed okay at first.'

Then she said, 'You don't like any books you read.'

'Yes I do!'

'No, you don't. Every time you finish a book you say it was rubbish. Name the last book you really, thoroughly enjoyed.'

I had to think. I mean, I really had to think. I came up with Never Let Me Go by Kazou Ishiguro, but I read that about three years ago. Then I mentioned Making History by Stephen Fry. That was twelve years ago.

'So, in twelve years, of all the books you've read, you've only enjoyed two.'

I shrugged. 'I'm picky.'

'That's your problem. You read because you think you should, rather than reading because you want to.'

I was a bit zonked by this. I know that I over analyse books as I'm reading, or I have high expectations and get annoyed when the book doesn't measure up but I never realised how few books I actually enjoy. Even looking at the books I've included in this blog, over on the right there, as books I've read recently. Only three stand out as really good: Walking on Glass, Bog Child and Black Rabbit Summer.

So yesterday I decided to read something totally out of my comfort zone. I actually picked this book up by chance, read the first page and got hooked by the voice of the narrator. It's something I never thought I'd want to read. It's The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid. And so far, yes, I'm enjoying it. It's 209 pages long; if my wife is right, I'll get to page 180 and think, 'What a load of...'