A friend recently gave me a book called "On Chesil Beach" by Ian McEwan. She thought I would like it (Ian McEwan wrote "Atonement"). This friend is usually spot on with her book recommendations and I gladly started reading it last night. The review on the front cover was "Wonderful . . . Exquisite . . . Devastating."
My review is "Horrible . . . Excruciating . . . Waste of Paper."
Why on Earth would I be interested in reading 166 pages of sappy crap about a couple (both virgins) having sex for the first time on their wedding night? That's right . . . the entire book is about ONE NIGHT. And, what's worse is that they don't even have sex until page 103! And the sex is bad sex and only lasts for one paragraph before the woman runs out of the room and down to . . . you guessed it . . . Chesil Beach.
Total. Waste. Of. My. Time.
I gave up - something I rarely do with books unless I am totally disgusted. I was totally disgusted. I threw the book away and read the first three chapters of "The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court." Now that's good reading.
Statistical inference and the morning weight room
17 hours ago