Ok so I know that picture is a bit depressing to illustrate an "I've just come back from holiday!" post, but it's the only CC-licensed one I could find that relates to the brilliant book that I read whilst I was away. And this is just a post about that book, not about the holiday itself (which was, bien sur, freakin' awesome).
The book is called The Book Thief and has been a massive international best seller for the last three years or something, so I know I'm behind the times with it. But having read quite a lot of much harder-work (but incredibly rewarding) style literature recently - Marilynne Robinson, mainly - I was feeling a bit, let's be honest, snooty about The Book Thief. My snootiness continued for about the first 50 or 100 pages. I thought it was pretty contrived to have Death as the narrator, and I found his narrative style a bit irritating. But next thing I knew I was preferring to lie in the coolth of our room reading all afternoon instead of sitting on this beach:
That's got to be some kind of a gripping book right? So if you happen to read this and happen not to to have read The Book Thief, I recommend it. For me, it was the perfect holiday read - a story that grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and wouldn't let go till I read the last page as our ferry arrived back in Piraeus and I had to work hard not to sniffle and weep in public.
And not a "chick" in sight. :-)
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