I am a literature addict. But as with many types of word junkies out there, I find pleasure in reading a certain style of writing that is tight-to-the-point, lyrical and poetic when it's needed, but never too totally or partially shamelessly self-absorbed. Unless it's a personal blog online or a teenage journal.

An example of an excruciating book that I have ever picked up (and haven't had the time and interest to finish) in my whole life is Peter Landesman's 'Blood Acre'. I bought it for a price of three ringgit and I wish I'd chosen another book instead - and being me, I almost never regret buying any books before.

You have no idea how bad the book translates in my short life as a book junkie.

The plot of the story was weak for my taste and I just couldn't stand the long and winding descriptive fillers, about buildings and the shape of the crack in the pillars or the smell of something acrid or unbathed bodies, that go on and on throughout the gloomy sleep-inducing tale of a corrupted womanizing attorney.

The only time my attention was dragged out from somewhere sleepy was during tiny paragraphs of character analysis. I am the kind of reader who likes to know why such a person acts a certain way. I like to get into the mind behind the characters.

But sadly, Mr. Landesman was way too verbose in describing things that I didn't care for, like the arrangement of water pipes.

The main protagonist was so diffuse in his actions that a smoke that drifted from a stomped cigarette on the ground had a better chance of catching my attention. He was rootless and shockingly dull at all levels.


I had to coax myself into thinking that I needed to widen my vocabulary by sticking with the book till the end. Not to despair, I told myself, the pace would pick up and before long I'd appreciate the true essence of this piece of art.

That was major wishful thinking, unfortunately and I kept sighing up to the middle of the book before I tossed it somewhere.

And since I never got to appreciate Landesman's magniloquent published work, I have to warn all avid fiction reader to STAY AWAY from 'Blood Acre'.

It was a waste of the three ringgit that I could have spent on two or three cups of teh tarik and watch my mother read newspapers!

Image Credit:
J. ALderete
The Novel Reader By Van Gogh

shanaz@RS | 1:16 AM | Labels: writing style