Last night the deeply satisfying experience of having friends discuss my blog in my presence was vouchsafed me. That they failed to gush with fulsome praise and naked envy at the felicity of my prose is neither here nor there. Let it pass. Such fleeting worldly rewards are immaterial to me.
What interested me was a comment which amounted to this: ‘I’ve never read anyone who can be so malicious about books as you are.’ It is possible that the intervening hours (and the tumbler of Jameson whisky I was nursing at the time) may have fogged my memory, but the substance of the statement, I’m sure, is rendered accurately.
Now, let me hasten to say that I’m not at all wounded by this comment (in fact I’m rather pleased about it, in what is clearly a demented way), but such a charge is bound to inspire a certain amount of introspection.
Admittedly, I can’t think of a book review off the top of my head that is as savage as a brief revision of this blog tells me I am. I seem to enjoy writing a Snark (a viciously unfavourable review).
So: poll time.