I was stuck on two four hour flights this past week with my own bad choices.
The first, a freebie from the wonderful Amazon Vine program, was my mistake. I'd tried a previous book by David Shields ("The Thing About Life Is That One Day You'll Be Dead") paid full price for it based on a review in the morning paper!--and never could finish it. I picked out "How Literature Saved My Life" based on the title alone, failing to grasp that this author had failed me once.
I read nearly all of it between Denver and Philadelphia, and I still don't know how literature saved Mr. Shields's life. I don't even get what he was talking about--the writing was pretentious and inscrutable.
On the way back, I carried a hardcover copy of "Sweet Tooth," Ian McEwan's latest. Halfway through the book, two-thirds through the flight, I found I'd rather stare into space then continue reading this dull satire about the British Intelligence service. I never finished this book, and this from a McEwan fan who counts "Saturday" as one of her all-time favorite books. What a disappointment!