(There was a longer version of this but it’s kind of longwinded and tedious and I can’t be bothered to finish it – which is of course what happens when one attempts to read longwinded and tedious books which one can’t be bothered to finish – so I’ll just give you the gist:)
I want to finish The Magus. It’s really shitting me. I don’t like it at all. The concept is interesting but the execution is very contrived. The style is soporifically ponderous and all the characters grate my tits. The narrator, especially, is a pompous, self-absorbed pillock. He reminds so much of me; it’s terrible.
I want to read my Peter Greenaway book. And also, I’ve decided I’m going to do NaNoWriMo this year and have a pile of other books I want to read or reread in preparation. Like Georges Bataille‘s The Story of the Eye, which is great.
(Opens at random)
[Insert pyrotechnically surreal, lurid and obscene passage from The Story Of The Eye here.]
Let’s try it with the Magus.
*flip flip flip*
[Insert bromidically dreary, overdescriptive passage from The Magus here.]
See what I mean? [Well, probably not.]
I am going to finish it by the end of the month if it kills me, a possibility which cannot be discounted. I have 200 pages to go.