Tuesday, 24 November 2009
Adrian Mole: The Prostrate Years
I've been a fan of Adrian Mole since I was a teenager, in theory we don't have a lot in common -I'm female for a start but from the very beginning I was hooked. In recent years there have been additions to the series and they didn't live up to my memories. This one bucks the trend.
I really couldn't put it down, it was well past midnight before I realised that I had to stop reading and I was up again just past six frantically trying to finish it before work.
Adrian's life is still overly complicated, he is dogged by bad luck and makes some truly diabolical choices but this book has the sparkle and wit that I found in the first two books all those years ago.
All the old characters seem back on form too. Pandorra is still around but seems to have lost some of her sharp edges, is she being nice to Adrian or does she want something? Adrian's parents infidelities are still causing ripples - will we ever know all that they got up to? Adrian himself is still convinced that he will become a famous literary figure before long, but is time for this ambition runningout faster than he thought?
Not all of these questions are answered in this book, and for once I am hoping that there is a sequel sooner rather than later.
The thing that made me sit up and think the most though is that since I first read this I've imagined Adrian as being from a totally different generation than me - doing the maths here he is infact only 7 3/4 years older than I am.
This is a fun comic read, but it has enough underlying seriousness to really keep you hooked even when you think that Adrian has gone one step too far.
Monday, 16 November 2009
Even the most unobservant blog follower will have noticed that it has been nearly a month since my last post. I've been reading during that time and as ever some books have been good, some bad and shock horror there is one that I am actually reading really slowly because it is so detailed and beautifully written that I am savouring every page.
However I feel slightly guilty about the bulk of my recent reading as it is a genre that is really looked down upon.
The celebrity biography.
There I've said it. In a public place. Now I'll go for a cleansing shower.
No I won't. I refuse to feel ashamed of my reading choices. This time of year the bookshops are full of s'leb biogs. They aren't always very good, they aren't always very illuminating and sometimes they aren't even very enjoyable. Yet every year I am drawn to read at least a few of them.
The ones I've perused this year have been pretty run of the mill (and no I'm not going to open myself up to more ridicule by actually telling you whose they were) but they've made me smile and have made those first few weeks after the clocks change seem far far brighter.
I've had my fix for now tho' and I'm back on the hard stuff, more of which to follow.