Gone Girl

Gone Girl

Holidays. Gah! Bliss. Even if, like me, you end up spending most of the day under the duvet in Southern Spain playing Scrabble, sheltering against the chill and the gushing elements in a house built for sweltering heat and nary a breeze. Even then it is joy, joy, joy not to be at home, ticking through your to-do list and peering at your ever-more-filthy carpets wondering if you can be bothered to get them professionally cleaned. (That may just be me.)

Anyway, a holiday means a bookworm must make a key choice:
a. Use holiday to for Self-Improving Lengthy Works of Literature.
b. Sink into total self-indulgence and read all the stuff you normally don’t allow yourself to because you only have one lifetime and there are too many REAL books.

I do generally choose a. Honestly I do. But this just wasn’t one of those times.

I’m one of the last people around to read Gone Girl. I even saw a picture with Sarah Jessica Parker with a copy, and that’s enough to make me burn a book. But in the spirit of a lazy holiday, I hoovered it up. And it’s fantastic! It’s a true page-turner, and thoroughly well-written. I could pipe up something about it being no Faulks or Murakami, but frankly I enjoyed it much more than anything I’ve read from them. Sacrilege, maybe? No matter.

I won’t discuss details, because it’s a thriller, and I can only ruin it. The majority is finely tuned excellence – horror-tinged-mystery, with sharp characters and a fast-paced succession of twists. It’s not faultless – the end gets a bit gothic and blood-chillery. But that’s what you’ve signed up for, so you can revel in it, guilt-free. The other plus of reading something truly “popular” is that I can and do recommend it to everyone. Even my 15-year old cousin, who I hadn’t seen in 12 years, didn’t escape my needy, boney clutch on her elbow: “You MUST read it. It’s GREAT.”

And reader, I say the same to you. Go on, have a holiday.


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