A Good Book
Is it the storyline? The hype preceding its publication? The famous author? The succinct writing skills? The explosive subject? Or am I just describing Dan Brown here?! If you could distil all the necessary ingredients for a good book, bottle the magic potion and sell it to the highest bidder, you’d make a fortune!
Sometimes, a book just fits the mood the reader is in: the right title, at the right time, in the right place. When you’re on holiday, for example, a book of almost any description will keep you company on the beach as you try to block out the incessant chatter of other languages. A book can be purely medicinal to help prevent madness setting in as you lie in a hospital bed recovering from being prodded and poked by a myriad of professionals who think nothing of giving you sleeping tablets at ten pm, then forcing you awake at the crack of dawn with pulsing lights, clattering trays, and miserable breakfasts.
I am reading The Idea of Love by Louise Dean as I struggle with my particular brand of summer madness: a houseful of foreign students, an overgrown garden, builders, and working outside the home for a living. It got me thinking about the different aspects of the novel and before I go and clear out the attic I’ll share them with you:
The cover is woeful. No self respecting man is going to bother reading this book and that’s a terrible pity because most of them would identify strongly with the main character (a man) who is grappling with all the problems associated with modern living.
The chapters are short. It’s the little things that make a book readable. As most of us grab a quiet moment to read, short chapters give us literature’s answer to the cigarette break. Two or three pages are a perfect way to put the feet up and enjoy getting away from it all on the couch, or on the bus, or in a queue, or at coffee break, or before we fall asleep in bed.
The subject matter is modern and relevant. When I read a book, I love it when I fall over something I hadn’t thought of before. The author goes out and does the work for me and I lazily enjoy the fruits of her labour. Our hero works for a pharmaceutical company selling happy pills for all kinds of mental disorders that seem to spring up in answer to the needs of the company. It borders on the horrifying as he reaches into African countries, brown envelopes paving the way, freebies for doctors who prescribe the latest drugs on unsuspecting patients who maybe unhappy because they’re poor, or lack education and jobs.
Something you can relate to, an incident, a relative from hell who could be one of your own clan, the little things that go to make up the fictional life that often mirrors reality. My favourite so far (I’m not finished yet) is when the protagonist finds himself alone, with no sex life, and urges that send him scurrying to the internet where he finds a willing prostitute in a place where no one knows him. They talk and… well you’ll have to read the book to find out how they got on. It’s priceless!
Sometimes, a book just fits the mood the reader is in: the right title, at the right time, in the right place. When you’re on holiday, for example, a book of almost any description will keep you company on the beach as you try to block out the incessant chatter of other languages. A book can be purely medicinal to help prevent madness setting in as you lie in a hospital bed recovering from being prodded and poked by a myriad of professionals who think nothing of giving you sleeping tablets at ten pm, then forcing you awake at the crack of dawn with pulsing lights, clattering trays, and miserable breakfasts.
I am reading The Idea of Love by Louise Dean as I struggle with my particular brand of summer madness: a houseful of foreign students, an overgrown garden, builders, and working outside the home for a living. It got me thinking about the different aspects of the novel and before I go and clear out the attic I’ll share them with you:
The cover is woeful. No self respecting man is going to bother reading this book and that’s a terrible pity because most of them would identify strongly with the main character (a man) who is grappling with all the problems associated with modern living.The chapters are short. It’s the little things that make a book readable. As most of us grab a quiet moment to read, short chapters give us literature’s answer to the cigarette break. Two or three pages are a perfect way to put the feet up and enjoy getting away from it all on the couch, or on the bus, or in a queue, or at coffee break, or before we fall asleep in bed.
The subject matter is modern and relevant. When I read a book, I love it when I fall over something I hadn’t thought of before. The author goes out and does the work for me and I lazily enjoy the fruits of her labour. Our hero works for a pharmaceutical company selling happy pills for all kinds of mental disorders that seem to spring up in answer to the needs of the company. It borders on the horrifying as he reaches into African countries, brown envelopes paving the way, freebies for doctors who prescribe the latest drugs on unsuspecting patients who maybe unhappy because they’re poor, or lack education and jobs.
Something you can relate to, an incident, a relative from hell who could be one of your own clan, the little things that go to make up the fictional life that often mirrors reality. My favourite so far (I’m not finished yet) is when the protagonist finds himself alone, with no sex life, and urges that send him scurrying to the internet where he finds a willing prostitute in a place where no one knows him. They talk and… well you’ll have to read the book to find out how they got on. It’s priceless!
Labels: ingredients, what to read next
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