Books Two and Three

I should have thought of this. Book two is obviously another Megan Abbott. Brilliant.

I’ll read it though. I didn’t hate the cheerleaders, it was just a bit try-hard is all.

So we have book two, The End of Everything, and book three, The Death of King Arthur by Peter Ackroyd. Pretty different. The first is about best friends and boys and sleepovers; the second is about Merlin and Camelot. One cover has an Instagram-filtered photo of a girl in shorts, all lowercase title. The other a golden sword and all uppercase serifs.

Although this approach to the library is not without its irritations (Megan Abbott), I did just return books and borrow books within one minute. This is what scary old ladies who only wear black trousers, black shoes, black turtlenecks and pearls are doing with life. It’s brilliant. I revere tradition in literature – hushed stacks and morning-long browsing – but I also have the smash-and-grab attitude of a drug addict. I will take books, any books, if I need them. I’m not fussy, just give me words, NOW before the shakes come back.

So here’s to another saccharine slush novella about BFFs hating each other. Could be worse, could be blind.

ETA: don’t think my progress slow; I’ve been unable to restrict myself to the start-to-finish library borrowing. Have also downed a Chuck Palahniuk, a book about sociopaths, one on curiosity, Read Me, a Stephen King and The Scarlet Letter since the first library visit. As there’s no one playing but me and I have the rest of my life to play in, I think I’ll stroll this one. x

ETA: not a good start Megan.


What a compound. You’ve got to admire her boldness.

ETA: this is like reading a book written by me at 16. It makes me feel a bit sick.


ETA: I must stop using premodifying and compound adjectives.

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