Three Books. One Shame.

As I mentioned on Monday, I managed to coast through three books in the past couple weeks.  Two of which I flew through, the other one that took me ages and ages, partly because I kept reading other things because I didn't want it to end.

(turns out kindles make for bad blog photos, that kindle screen says How We Do Harm: A Doctor Breaks Rank About Being Sick in America).

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay takes some patience at the beginning. You have to want it. Keep reading and you will be eternally grateful for the opportunity to go on this journey and you will be sad.

How We Do Harm confirms the fact that everything in America is the worst particularly in terms of Healthcare. Not only are we being scammed by health insurance companies and pharmaceutical companies, but also apparently doctors. So that's a new thing to be worried about.

A Long Way Gone has been on our bookshelf for years and I finally opened it and then read it in about three days. If you're looking a direct punch to the gut and some real rude perspective, give this guy a whirl. Yikes. You will be #firstworldprobz-all over the place.

So after three brutally emotional sadbadnot-glad books in a row I needed a palate cleanser and luckily there was one on the shelf.

Guys, first things first - this book is terrible.

You know how you have that friend who name drops like, as much as humanly possible (note: I might be that friend sometimes. I am working on it)? This book is just "how many Nantucket-y things can I mention on one page?" I love it but I hate that I love it.

Also, its got that Dan Brown device where you feel like a genius because you solve everything fifteen pages before the characters do. How does someone write people that stupid?

And it is Salacious. What you may not know about me is that I a giant blushing prude. All kissing makes me uncomfortable anything more scandalous and I am sure that everyone on the train knows that people are totally naked in this book. I just want to die.

It's gotten away from the "Reginald's quivering member" themes and now is just absurdest mystery. But, I can't stop. I will read this whole book and then if someone wants to get boozey with me and talk about the overarching themes and Elin Hilderbrand's place in the cannon of post-modern feminist literature, I am in.

Sometimes after a flavorful, huge, delicious meal you just want some month-old Easter candy.