I am cheating on the book I’m supposed to be writing with a different book. Someone’s gonna get hurt. (Probably me.)
Last week, you may remember that I confessed:
There’s a certain
Very Rapturously Reviewed
novel that I purchased, lemming-like, the year it came out. I have read one hundred pages of it but I have never finished it. I liked those first hundred pages well enough, but um, the book itself was awkward to hold in bed. I skimmed the rest and read the last chapter and called it a day. I have since used it as a doorstopper. (In our old apartment, we had a door that used to blow shut for no reason whatsoever.) I have killed spiders with it. I am stillnot above pretending to have read this book, which is why I can’t tell you the title.
Despite many lovely e-mails, I’m STILL not going to tell you the title. However, I will say that it is neither The Corrections nor is it Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. (Both were speculated.)
Many of you admitted that you, too, have books you claim to have read that you haven’t. If you’d like to unburden yourself below, feel free.