Welcome to this week's Literary Blog Hop hosted by The Blue Bookcase, the ladies have posed yet another conundrum for us to ponder over . . . . .
What is one of your literary pet peeves?
Now this has flummoxed me! There was I, sure of my critical faculty, of my innate understanding of the very essence of literature, not just of those bits that bask in sunlight, but those that dwell in the very darkest, winding passages of Pandemonium (capitol of Hell). But those ladies at The Blue Bookcase have called my bluff, have shown me up to be a callow, unfledged being with little regard to the finer points of our world.
Now, I thought, that I was just laid back, relaxed, yes I can wonder why an author went off at a sudden tangent, has appeared to swerve right off track, but as long as they do find a way back, I’m happy to follow sometimes the side trails offer the greatest adventure (Pynchon, Bolano). Also dialect, as long as it helps define the character, places the individual in a specific setting, I have no problem with it in fact I recently read, Irvine Welsh’s- Reheated Cabbage (Tales of chemical degeneration), which was written partly in the dialect of Leith, Scotland and once I picked up the rhythm I loved it.
So where does that leave me and my Bookish ego? can I really find nothing that I can attack and in doing so restore my sense of self. Well, I don't like books that have pages with just a few lines on them - you know, you turn the page and there is just three lines then, blank, followed by a blank page before the next chapter – this can make the book appear to be longer than it is and more importantly heavier to carry around. It seems a bit petty, but it does count, doesn’t it, say it does - it would make me feel so much better.