Have you ever read a book that when you finish it you are just disappointed in the writer? I did this past week, the sad thing is I was excited to start reading it. But the book ended up not delivering as promised. It was a sad ironic story about today’s economic situation focusing on home ownership. I don’t even want to give the author press by sharing the name of the book.
So when I picked up this book and read the back cover it talked about how this was a fiction novel about the exploits of an out of work reporter who is about to lose his home and the adventures he goes on. I started reading and with in pages the narrator goes out and gets high for the first time in years – no this wasn’t what was disappointing. Then he decides to sell pot to his friends, to help raise enough money to keep his home – I wasn’t even disappointed by that. I was thinking to myself as I read on, “Oh this will be like Weeds…” Nope it wasn’t. I love the show Weeds because it is an ironic portrayal of adulthood and surviving. But this book wasn’t even that, the author copped out and had the narrator get caught by cops and because of that. Then the lead character freaks out and ends up giving up the fact that he is a paid informant for the police.
When I brought the book to my local coffeeshop to put on the shelves, my friend E asked me how it was and I told her I was disappointed because the book was a sad, ironic view on life. She looked at the cover and asked if it was about suicide, because the drawing on the cover had a man falling into a chasm. I said, although it was about financial suicide. It was just a sad sad book.
I do try to find a redeeming value in everything I read, but this book I couldn’t even do that. I spent the day thinking about books I have read and how much I enjoy reading them. Reading is my major hobby it helps me relax and I learn so much about life, myself and others. I love fiction because it exercises my imagination and takes me to places I have yet to go physically. Reading is just so amazing.