I don’t think anybody enjoys a book like I do.
This, I just thought, on the toilet seat, when a near-the-end one-liner made me laugh hard on my slipping-off-the-seat buttocks.
I always linger on with the book for at least a couple days (this one, a week), carry it with me wherever I go – the market, the hills, the railway stations, the long bus rides, the toilet seat, of course – and sneak a line or two whenever I can, knowing all too well I will have to read it again to get the flow back when I sit down to read long-term. My long-term, by the way, is an hour at max. I have never sat down with a book for hours together, without food, without water (except with Fatherland, count one). I have to get up every ten-fifteen minutes with some excuse, just to let the words settle in me. To analyse what made the writer really write what she did.
I have always been jealous of people who can finish a book in one sitting. In one night. In a day. In hours, sometimes. I still am, jealous. But I guess I have accepted that too, thinking in vain (and vain), that I absorb more out of the dry pages than all else, maybe.
Anyways, a quick thought regarding the book.
Yes, I have seen the movie. And despite a dazzling screenplay, and a brilliant line up, cast, and direction, and acting of course, I’m sure we all will agree, it couldn’t make that impact. I will go as far as saying that the story – with all it’s intricate details and set-ups – deserved not a movie but a television series; and even that could never have matched the caliber that the book holds. Absolutely brilliant and lethal in every aspect!
P.S. If you are weak-hearted or easily affected/influenced (me), I would recommend, not to, never to read this work. You will be deprived for life of something awesome, but then we all are – regards “something”.