Dan Brown has become some sort of infectious virus. The main casualties seem to be commuters. I’d guess, with no exaggeration, that 40% of people I see reading on the train are reading Dan Brown, and most of those seem to be reading Angels and Demons.
I’ve never read any of the guy, but it still slightly depresses me to see so little variety. There’s a lot of books out there people. Gah. It kind of reminds me of when a band becomes famous, and all their previous albums are suddenly lined up in front of you at HMV, whether they’re complete shit or not. I’m trying not to name any names here.
In other news, I recently finished Saturday, by Ian McEwan. The novel describes a day in the life of a wealthy neurosurgeon’s Saturday in London in 2001. It’s almost claustrophobic in its level of detail, reminding you of how much is actually fit into each day, everyday. A relentless number of thoughts and small events one after the other from the moment you wake up every morning. Makes me exhausted just thinking about it. It’s how I imagine Ulysses probably feels, if I ever had the slightest inclination to sit down and read the thing. Anyway, read Saturday; Ian McEwan is just getting better and better.
— Feaverish May 4, 12:48 AM #
— Eamon May 4, 11:50 AM #
— Pierce May 4, 07:45 PM #