Friday, April 20, 2007
I couldn't pick it up
I'm starting to see more people on the tube reading The Interpretation Of Murder by Jed Rubinfeld. I feel like saying "are you really enjoying that or are you only reading it because it was piled high in Waterstones?" I picked up a copy of this in the office a few months back after reading the blurb from Matthew Pearl, the writer of the very excellent Dante Club, and abandoned it after 100 pages because nothing had happened. There was a time when you could always understand how best sellers had become best sellers. Frederick Forsyth's Day Of The Jackal was no masterpiece but it was a page-turner. But these days I recoil from Harry Potter or The Da Vinci Code amazed at their sheer tedium. Is there a new market opening up for dull books?