I've just started reading ****, or, The Anatomy of Melancholy by Matthew Selwyn.
Unless I decide to put it down to get back to Melville or move onto The Sympathiser (because I'm depressed at the moment and the book doesn't look like something that goes well with depression), I'll (try to) write about it, and readers of this blog should keep these facts in mind:
Matthew Selwyn has a few things against him: I generally don't read contemporary novels and over the past few years I've mostly read books that have stood the test of time; I read Moby Dick just a short while ago and it's likely to affect my standards and expectations (see what happened when I read Doctor Zhivago right after Anna Karenina and Lady Chatterley's Lover right after War and Peace?); I generally don't like books with colloquial, slangy style as though the narrator's speaking (The Catcher in the Rye is 1 of the few exceptions).
There is 1 thing against me: I know Matthew- we haven't met, but we may, he's a blogger friend and the person that sent me the book (signed, last year). You know what that implies.
Why do I make a public announcement? Because that would make it harder for me to break my promise. Not that I've never made a fool of myself on this blog before, but still...