I don't know what's wrong with me. Every new book that I pick up I feel like hurling across the room. Admittedly I did set myself the onerous task of reading Dance to the Music of Time by Anthony Powell over the holidays. - three hundred characters. Yes. Three hundred. Then there was The Stranger's Child by Alan Hollinghurst. And someone who was raving about it gave me The Rules of Civility....oh dear. Well, let me say that Dance to the Music (12 volumes. Yep, 12) is going to have to dance on without me and Alan Hollinghurst who is a fabulous writer lost me on that one too... As for Rules of Civility - well, I don't feel like being very civil about it to be honest - Dominick Dunne dun it better guv. Honest. Oh yes, and I read Pure which won plaudits and prizes galore and I was like - meugh...I've read better. So it's not that I haven't been reading (frankly that will never happen) but it's just that I haven't been inspired. AT ALL. I even in a moment of desperation picked off the shelves an old Iris Murdoch - The Philosopher's Pupil. Crikey.I gave that a miss, too.
Then - thank goodness I went to swish bookish party at Waterstones in London and in my goodie bag was a freebie proof copy of My Policeman by Bethan Roberts. Hoozah and Hoorah! Finally - a great book. One worth reading.
It's set in Brighton in the 50's and is an absolute corker. I don't want to give anything away - but do urge you to read it. You'll LOVE it.