Once upon a time, I wrote an entry about books I tried to read but did not finish. I’ve recently failed to finish some more books, so it’s time for another incarnation of that entry. I’m going to include some minor spoilers (obviously not for the endings, because I didn’t make it that far) for The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs, The Judas Pair, and The Suburban You, so if you think you might want to read these books, turn away now and come back again another day.
In lieu of spoiler space, here is a picture of the back of my head, which I took last month because I was amazed that following the instructions in the magazine article headlined “Soaking Wet, One Twist, and You’re Set” actually worked–I used a comb to secure my wet hair into a semblance of a French twist and it stayed up all day. You can also see the lilac walls in our bathroom and the shower curtain with the leaf design that deteriorates a little more every time I wash it.
On with the books:
The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs
I was finding the linguist pretending to be a veterinarian due to a case of mistaken identity a bit tedious, but I kept listening because I thought the resolution might be satisfying. When a poor innocent daschund had the wrong leg amputated because this idiot didn’t come clean, I was done. I don’t care if the main character redeemed himself later–there was no need to have that happen to that little dog.
The Judas Pair
I was looking for a diverting mystery. I got a main character who, as almost his first act in the story, slaps a woman around and locks her in the bathroom, so I decided I didn’t need to stick around to see what happened next.
The Suburban You
The only reason I can think of to listen to the rest of this book is if I wanted to get really plastered playing the “spot the stereotypes” drinking game. In the first disc alone, there was the hysterical, irrational pregnant woman, the nagging wife, the pale and flabby accountant, the doddering old man, the long-suffering husband, and the hot young Swedish chick being drooled over by lecherous married men. The 12-year-old pyromaniac was a refreshing touch, but I couldn’t stand to hear the rest of it just to see if the kid would eventually burn down the neighborhood as I hoped he would. Worse, it’s all second-person narration. I guess that might be okay if I actually wanted to put myself in the place of a privileged out of touch uber-yuppie who appears to hate his wife but can’t admit that to himself, but I most certainly do not.
One year ago, I’d just gotten back from Alaska.
Two years ago, give or take a day, I was just returning from a trip to Colorado.
Three years ago, I was in California and not writing entries. I sure do go on vacation a lot.
Powered by WordPress