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Volstrekt eigenzinnig. Dat zijn de twee woorden die het sterkst blijven hangen na het omslaan van de laatste pagina van ‘Boek 1’, het wervelende romandebuut van Martin Rombouts. Het schijnt de meningen nogal te verdelen, zoals ik het om me heen hoor, maar ik behoor gelukkig tot het kamp dat dit “poëzieproza” kan waarderen. Benieuwd naar wat nog komen gaat!

Ook het enige, vooralsnog.

“Abject.
Dismal.
Weird.”
(p. 207)

Well, that about sums up my thoughts on this novel.

People suck.

A significant drop in quality compared to Hit Parade of Tears, let alone Terminal Boredom. At times, this novel bored me (terminally). The last third of the story was the most rivetting, but even the not wholly convincing. Suzuki did so much more interesting things with her writing. Which reminds me: will the same apply to my own writing?

A lovely introduction (for me) into the stories of the legendary Agatha Christie. Perfect for the dark days of Christmas. Wish they were longer, as some of the short stories felt a bit rushed, but I know now what to do: read her novels!

One of Naipaul’s earlier novels and my first introduction into his work. He was destined to do great things later on and this satire, still only his second novel, already shows. In one word: rumbunctious.

Ik ben niet slim genoeg om deze bundel helemaal te doorgronden. Toch genoten!

Seriously funny, and yet... I struggle to find this collection of poems amazing, with all due respect. There’s quality in spades here, don’t get me wrong, but after a while I found the whole of it to be a bit tepid, or at least my attitude towards it. I don’t know, maybe I’m looking for different things in poetry.

Took me a while to finish this, and I don’t know why exactly... It’s well written, exciting, has compelling characters, and it sets up its sequels pretty darn good. And yet it didn’t quite grab me as the Neuromancer-series, or even Burning Chrome. Does that make it a bad book? Absolutely not. But it did kind of convey a sense of wearing out one’s clothes, a tad trope–y, if you like. Maybe it’s just habituation.

Gibson never disappoints. Another cyberpunk gem!

There was just enough fog to make everything seem unreal. The wet air was as cold as the ashes of love.

Uit: Farewell, My Lovely, p. 268.