This isn’t going to be a book review – at all – but I felt compelled to voice my opinion about the last book I read; Precious Blood by Jonathan Hayes.
Now, before I continue I would like to point out that reviews and things of the like are, to me, utterly pointless. Why? Because art, in all its forms, is completely subjective. What I love you may well loathe. One mans trash and all that.
Yes, I suppose the critics are there to ‘guide’ us, to help us decide on a book, restaurant, movie, pair of jeans – the list will go one. But who really reads (and takes heed of) a review anymore? 3 people love the new Japanese sushi bar and 4 people think its ok and 2 people think it sucks and 1 person wants to marry the chef. Where on earth do I fit in there? You see where I’m going with this?
So, back to the book. I guess I’m frustrated. In an anti climatic way. It was building up to be one heck of a story and mid way through, it flopped – sorry – and then by the end it had completely shriveled up back into its shell. I kept reading out of duty. I’ve stopped reading a book midway through a couple of times – you know when you just can’t go on anymore?
There is nothing worse than finishing a book and having that sinking, unsatisfying feeling. Absolutely nothing worse than thanking God it’s over! So, once the back cover was closed I popped on over to Goodreads and read its reviews and more people than not liked it. Quite a few people gave it 4-4.5 stars. Me? I gave it 3 and that’s only because the beginning was very cool and fast paced. But see how that works? People all over the world raving about it and me doing the exact opposite. Pointless? Maybe. Sometimes. My point? Reviews confuse me.
…..then came home to my chocolate bunny