I confess, I have given up on reading Love in the Time of Cholera. I know it is a classic work of literature. I know that Gabriel Garcia Marquez is a Nobel Prize winner and acclaimed genius of the pen. But I also know that close to a hundred pages in, I don’t care that Dr. Juvenal is dead. And I am tired of waiting for the love to begin. I am bored.
Reading is not supposed to be a self-flagellation by pages. It’s supposed to be a thing of beauty, a journey eagerly taken whether it leads to the heights of love or to utter desolation. Reading is not meant to be a chore, but rather a joy and there is no joy in this book, at least, not for me. And life is short so I am putting it down. Classic or no.
I don’t like keeping books on my shelf that I have neither read nor plan to read so if you want a copy of Love, you’re in luck. You can have mine. I should warn you that it *is* the Oprah’s Book Club edition. I was tricked into that. A wily Chapter’s employee put the 20% sticker right over the logo. I still have not forgiven Opera for Songs in Ordinary Time.
A while back I saw a list on a blog of the 100 hardest books to read and going through it I noticed that quite a few of them have been OBC picks. Coincidence?
I’m well in The Other Boleyn Girl now and it is everything a decent novel should be. I am delighted.