Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Slade House by David Mitchell

I am officially in a slump. Not because of Slade House but because I'm having such a hard time writing. Figured it was time to pull up my big girl pants, stop feeling sorry for myself, and write. . . something. Anything really.

My kids think I don't get it. I do, I really do get what it's like to just be blocked. So I'm sorry, I have to break the block and I make no claims to the quality.

Weeks like last week really make me examine the quality of the lit I'm reading. I'm not really criticizing all the YA smaltz, anything that gets a kid to read has value. However, there is a sharp difference between entertainment and literature. Functionally, entertainment I can blow through at an extreme rate. Literature, I have to slow down and analyze as I read. Both of the things I picked up to read last week fall in the literature category.

Slade House is by the same author who wrote Cloud Atlas which was a finalist for the Booker Prize and later was made into a movie. Both books left me feeling disoriented and fuzzy. As uncomfortable as that feels, I've begun to associate that feeling with good literature.

Slade House is a kind of literary fantasy. The house is the home of "soul-sucking vampires" who consume soul energy to continue their lives. Each chapter details the experience of a potential victim. It took me a while to get hooked, but once I did, I had a hard time putting it down.

It's a great book.

I might have to revisit this when I've had a little more time to digest.


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