It was a quiet uneventful Sunday evening. Tired of bugging K to talk with me, I stormed off to find a book to read. It has been a a long time since I curled up with a book in hand and did not lift my face up till it was done. Scanning the rows of books at my bookshelf, I was looking for something that would not be dense. Something that was not quite the Mills and Boon genre. My eyes fell on the crimson cover of Desirable Daughters. I bought this book on a whim reading some review somewhere.
Book in hand, I marched back to the living room where the TV was on and some football game running. Covering myself with a warm throw, a bottle of water by my side and cellphone within reach I started the book. The book started promisingly, kept the tempo up, built on predictable lines and finished predictably too. Took me all of three to four hours to devour the book in one sitting. Eyes tired, I looked at the clock, it was 11:30 PM. Hauling K from his TV induced stupor we hit the bed. Sleep eluded me. I was not sure if I liked the book. I liked portions of it. Some characters had merit but on the whole I felt disappointed.
Am not sure if it is because I am getting tired of the Jhumpa Lahiri style writing. Bengali backgrounds, stereotyped desi lives, accounts of the nouveau rich etc. I was hoping for something to tie the protagonist of the novel with the premise she started with. At the end I was still left searching. I even felt a bit angry.
Does a book do that to you? Build up and let you down? Does it make you swear off the genre for a while? How do you cope?