I am reading...

The moment I heard that John Irving had ushered a new book, I had to hold it my hands, weigh it, eye every detail of it and anticipate the deep pleasure of reading its every word, like a long-awaited present from a real master-mind.

While anxiously waiting for our Sout-Africa-bound plane, lazily wandering around the shiny marbke alleys of a German airport, hubby darted for the local bookstore, one of our favorite hideouts when spending time in airports, in between lay-overs. He came out triumphantly holding a little package like a holy grail - Last Night in Twisted River.

For once, and regretfully, I have to say that the book could be judged by its cover for me: it is sad, almost gloomy and tortured, reflecting with sheer perfection the black and grey hues of its cover. It is taking me quite some time to wind through the "twisted" plot and the characters' intricate lives, following them from one American State to the other in search of their real life and identity while hiding away from a crazy sherif, very much enclined to make his own justice. The story is very dense and lacking the vibrant rhythm that usually keeps me hooked to John Irving's prose.

In essence, and for all the reasons afore-mentioned, this book sadly won't reach my very personal wall of fame... And I am the first one to be disappointed, believe me.