When I finish a book I usually have one of two reactions:
1. I press the book to my forehead and wish I could unread it so I could begin again
2. I throw it on the floor and stomp away
I obviously have strong reactions to books but find it hard to put my thoughts into words, other than an incoherent ramble. I need boundaries and limits to hinder my thoughts, to stop them falling from my consciousness.
So, the last few books I have read, reviewed in haiku:
How Should a Person Be? – Shelia Heti
Does art reflect self?
If it does, what does it say?
Fuck, how should I know?
Girl in a Band – Kim Gordon
Defined by her man
(Thurston Moore is a arsehole)
Who is this girl now?
Abroad – Katie Crouch
Begins with a death
A failed echo of Tartt
My hopes were too high
The Silkworm – Robert Galbraith
A missing husband.
A crime foretold in a book.
A novel mystery.
The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks – E. Lockhart
Girl told to be sweet
She’ll have none of that, thank-you
Pure chaos ensues