So I borrowed a high brow British crime novel from the library. Ruth Rendell, An Unkindness of Ravens. Okay, maybe not very high brow. Here’s a picture.
|It is sad that library technology has forced barcodes to be put on top of book titles or authors.
I’m not very good at reading barcodes
Then I opened the book.
|Note how classy that title is: the curlicue on the V is chopped off…|
Um, what was that again? The Vampire’s Betrayal: Raven Hart? Trashy vampire romance? Twitch. Yeuch. The writing makes Twilight look sophisticated. I checked the cover again to make sure I hadn’t somehow, insanely, picked up the wrong book. But to no avail.
On page 27, the sloppy supernatural drivel miraculously transforms back into the erudite and innately British crime novel. But I am forever scarred.
|I couldn’t bear to read page 27. Who knows what I have missed so far?|
I shall never again be able to open a Ruth Rendell novel without fear and trepidation.