Stiegs & Stones
It’s sitting there in my luggage, ‘The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet’s Nest’, all 743 pages of it. I thoroughly enjoyed the first two, but the third – well, it’s a big time commitment. And today, a wander around my hotel reveals no less than seven Stieg Larssons (mostly the first volume) on sunbeds, so my natural instinct is not to follow the herd and read something else, something that perhaps doesn’t weigh around a stone.
It’s the same instinct that stopped me from seeing the last Bond film (wisely, as it turned out). And we all see each other’s books. Only the girl in the diamante bikini is being discreet, desperately squinting at her iPad en plein soleil.
Instead I read;
‘Strange Days Indeed’, Francis Wheen’s riveting look back at the seventies (it turns out the obsessions of Harold Wilson mirrored those of Nixon in his final days.)
‘Voodoo Histories’ by David Aaronovitch, an excellent primer on how conspiracy theories are created.
‘The Whisperers’, the strangely gothic and Coen Brothers-like new thriller from John Connolly.
But I have to wonder; am I being a snob? My old boss used to say ‘when several million people all do the same thing, you need to know about it too’.
I’ll start it tomorrow…