November 27, 2013 by alie
Nobody likes the books I recommend.
I read a book and I want to talk about it with someone so I force it into the hands of the nearest person. The book comes back to me months later accompanied by nods and smiles. Answers to my fevered questions are vague, lacking in any detail.
“Uhh, the bit where the main person did that thing.”
“How crazy was the ending?”
“Yeah, how about that ay… Crazy.”
“And the bit where everyone dies?”
The dog ear on the tenth page reveals their true thoughts.
I once lent someone The Bell Jar. In all fairness I did forewarn her. I explained that although it’s one of my favourite books, reading The Bell Jar is like watching a train wreck. A week later I hear a knock on the door. She is staring wide eyed, The Bell Jar held at a distance, pinched between two fingers. She thinks there’s something wrong with me.
“Did you like it?” She doesn’t know what to say. She stumbles over words, none sounding right.
“I know,” I say, putting the book back on the shelf. “I know.”
I suggest something else. “The Virgin Suicides? A Grief Observed? Atonement?”
But she is gone, fleeing from my suggestions, arms flailing.
No one read Love in the Time of Cholera, Sarah brought back State of Wonder saying “I’m not reading any more of your books” and my Mum brought back The Hours asking for something less ‘suicidey’. So this blog is to serve as a warning. If I lend you a book, maybe just don’t read it.