Was it George Bernard Shaw who said that a woman will ask you for advice listen very attentively and then go out and do exactly as it pleases her? Hmm. That is exactly what I did. I asked you all for some recent fiction that you enjoyed and going by the synopsis of most of your recommendations, I could see that you knew what you were talking about. But I finally chose something completely different.
I chose “Waiting in the wings” by Melissa Brayden as it was high time I sampled LGBT fiction. And I chose a light read that did not have disapproving straight people breathing down the protagonist’s neck and I chose well. I had been going through a few behind the scenes videos of Ballet performances and could very much connect with the theatre backdrop of this sweet novel. No one disapproves of Jenna or Adrienne just because they are lesbians. All the problems are regular people problems that any woman in a relationship can face. That said, it wasn’t exactly a read that gripped my heart and soul. It was good in a mild ‘one time read’ way.
It had a lot of ‘Oh, how can I admit my deep love? I am not sure if the other person loves me back’ hand wringing and that is somehow not something that grips me. The girl on girl hotness is something that was quite sweet without any cheesiness. Romances of recent times seem to be often about the protagonist’s struggle to choose between their career and their relationship. That is the main conceit of this novel. Jenna has delightful straight friends who give her the support she needs when she is down. The career is almost always an uphill climb. That may not be REAL for any career has its ups and downs. But it was somehow very much relatable in spite of the sugar coating.
So I am looking for a good novel with male gay protagonists. Once again I would prefer something light and some good humor would not be out of place. Got anything to suggest? 😀
I used to be a voracious reader. I considered myself bookish and so did everyone around me. And whenever I saw a book I have not read my pulse will quicken and I would start looking at the book longingly. I used to read the few books that I got with gratefulness and read them from cover to cover. Those were the days. Now my iPad is filled with PDFs of books by ostensibly great writers and I just close the tab and play an online game.
But I am not sure if it is just the presence of the online games that stopped me being a book-lover. It is also the quality of the books that I found around me. Does finding the right book for you get more and more difficult as you grow older? Why am I less indulgent about the prose? Is it because you can’t really enjoy James Patterson after acquainting yourself in Wilkie Collin’s writing? My first Patterson book attempted a multiple narrative format and fell flat on its own face. Did Agatha Christie spoil the mystery genre for me by making me too used to slithering red herrings that now when someone tries to put a mystery under my nose, I sniff it out and tut-tut at the budding author’s lack of skill? I don’t know. But I still feel the need to read.
A few years ago a friend pushed J. D. Salinger’s “The catcher in the rye” into my hands and I returned the favor by pushing a copy of George Bernard Shaw’s “Pygmalion” into hers and we continued to do this until she relocated to Hyderabad. Now I have no one who really knows what I will like and the recommendations I see online don’t do anything to me. Or maybe I am just picking the wrong recommendations?
These days I start judging the writer from the first line onwards. It does not feel like I am following the protagonist’s journey. It is more like the author is sitting in front of me and trying to impress me in some sort of audition and I give Simon Cowell-type pronouncements on the quality of the product. And it seems to me that the young ones have started to write before they have read enough. Reading the seven Harry Potter books alone is all very well if you want to write Snape/Lily shipping stories. But writing something that is worth reading is a herculean task and good preparation of the mind is essential from the writer and I wonder if sufficient ‘writers’ realize this. I find it painful when very immature writers try to be profound.
Steven Pinker, Richard Dawkins and Matt Ridley kept me company with their well-researched Pop-Sci books and I could not get enough of their erudite and passionate arguments in favor of their pet theories. And even if some of their concepts are too much for my slow brain, it still worth the trouble I put into reading their books.
But I came to miss evocative storytelling from someone who knew what he or she was doing. My childhood dream was to earn enough money to buy any book I took a fancy to. But just as the dream was turning to a reality, my ability to take fancy to any book at all was at an all-time low. Is that the fate of adulthood?
Do you still read? Can you recommend something from a writer who isn’t putting on a circus of emotions and going all drama-queen on me? Can you recommend something to read that was really worth your while?