Failed at the second book…

Ok, so in terms of my reading harder challenge this year, I am failing pretty miserably. Out of the 16 books I wanted to read that my Mum had by her bedside at the end, I have managed a pitiful 3. Well, 2 actually, because this one, The Silk Roads, by Peter Frankopan, proved to be too much for little old quasi-literary me…


I got it out of the library, I took it home and placed it by my bedside. And there it stayed. Then, three weeks later, I went back to the library and renewed it. And for three more weeks it stayed by my bedside. I just couldn’t read it. Which is where we come to the semi-epiphany of this post…

I don’t actually care.

It was not my type of book. I would have loved an epic novel about a journey on the silk roads, a romance, a historical piece of fiction, perhaps something à la Marina Fiorato. I would have eaten that stuff for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But a non-fiction text like this one? No thanks. (I can only say “like this one”, as I never got far enough into even the blurb to truly say what the heck this one was about).

So, I gave up. Sorry, Mum. I am not as intellectual as you were. I can’t get as interested in this sort of thing as you did. I know she would have read every word, and then possibly moved on to other follow-on texts, and been planning a trip along the silk roads as a result. (I would totally have gone with her btw, I do actually love history, just not particularly reading in this way about it)

But, I think; james-joyce. Now, this was not a bad book, but it was a bad book for me. The world is full of books, and some will suit some more than others. This was not my book. But it was Mum’s, and I feel content knowing that it sat on my bedside for those 6 weeks. Thanks, Mum.

Failed at the second book…

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