after i read something factual, heavy-going or disturbing, i like to balance it with something a little more trivial, and occasionally something brian-dissolvingly awful. i recently finished 'fred & rose' (see earlier post) and i thought it might be time to allow my mind to relax a little. how welcome is a spot of sweet desert after a large, savoury main course? very.
being back in my hometown has stirred up many a fond memory of long, sunburnt hours spend lolling around on the beach reading the deliciously inane literature of one jackie collins (who's sister, joan, you will have heard of if you aren't familiar with the author herself) so when i see two of her books, ones which i haven't even read, going at £1 for the pair - the dreamy deal is as good as done.
sun blazing down and deckchair wrestled into something that could potentially be sat on, i open the first page of 'hollywood wives' (self-proclaimed '#1 best seller!') and prepare myself for a happy afternoon of fictional glamour, rumors, murder and incest. but after 56 pages, something is very wrong.
yes, all the necessary components are there, and in their dozens, but it isn't hitting the spot. for the first time ever, i find myself thinking 'why am i reading this?' am i too intelligent? no. am i too grown up? no. do i consider myself above a little trash-fiction? certainly not. so why am i not enjoying it? the offending novel is next to me as i write this, i've been sparing it a glare every few sentences, but still i do not know why. imagine one day, if you were to watch eastenders, and genuinely not enjoy it, even on some low low level. would you not be somewhat, if secretly, alarmed?
i'm worried.
i am very very worried.
i may see a doctor.
all that aside, the first line definitely didn't disappoint;
'Elaine Conti awoke in her luxurious bed in her luxuious Beverly Hills mansion, pressed a button to open the electrically controlled drapes, and was confronted by the sight of a young man clad in a white T-shirt and dirty jeans pissing a perfect arc into her mosaic tiled swimming pool.'
now THATS what i call reading.
