Ok, so sometimes we can be a little critical, maybe a touch negative, perhaps a tad ranting but always whenever we highlight a book on the blog we are nothing if not fulsome in our praise. Not this time.
Whenever people get to an old age they feel they have earned the right to say pretty much whatever they want because they just don't care any more. And fair enough I say. Unfortunately, what can occasionally happen is that a lifetimes worth of suppressed bile and anger can come forth in a torrent of ugliness and bitterness. Kurt Vonnegut is 82 and has written a book so ugly and unfunny and distasteful that I would love to be able to ignore it but am compelled to share it's petty nastiness. It's a sort of memoir, it's called Man Without a Country and avoid it at all costs. And I loved Slaughterhouse 5 and Cat's Cradle. Neither of which I'll ever be able to read again.
Should I talk about books I loathe on the blog? Probably not but this blogging for me is kind of a 'get it off your chest' thing. And it could also act as a conduit for my own bitterness and bile so that by the time I get to that age (if I get to that age) it won't be unpleasantries coming out of my mouth, just a little bit of dribble.