*seethe*

I haven't been this furious since 2001. The year I read Ben Okri's The Famished Road. Then, I felt murderous. Incensed, completely, gut-wrenchingly enraged that I had wasted a month (yep, books that excruciating absolutely go on forever) of my life reading a bunch of words that said so little and were so much rubbish. Maddening.

And then, last night. After ploughing (at 600-odd pages, I imagine 'ploughing' is more or less appropriate) through Dan Brown's Angels and Demons for about a week now, I finally had it. Committed sacrilege, I did. Did something I've never done, swore I would never do.

*whisper*

I skimmed.

*shudder*

I swear, I swear, a book has to be that horribly bad for me to skim through it after a week of dedicated ploughing, just to get it over with. Honest! It really, really was. I still can't get over the fact that the man has written 600 pages about one day in a manner so sensationalistic, so hackneyed, so cheap-Hollywood-thriller-type, so... so... arrrghhhhhhhing!

I could really get into the gory details. I'm itching to bitch. There's so much I have to say about this book, so many bones to pick, so many issues I have with so much of it, the plot, the filmy-ness, the characters, the raciness, the crappiness of it all... So much to diss! I really, really am dying to vent heaps more vitriol, except I promised myself last night, as I melted into pacifying sleep, that I'd let it go. Be the bigger person (Yeah, right! Like I have! *grin*) Not allow my blood pressure to shoot up over a book. It is, after all, a book. Words. Sticks and stones, not...

Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breatheeee out. Peace. Hush... Zzzzz. Dreams. Calmness. The ocean. Shhh. Escape.

Sigh.