Golly, I've been reading Little, Big for more than a month. Apart from Neal Stephenson, this never happens.
Admittedly, I have had lots of other things to read and write - which has taken priority on bus and train journeys, and at evenings and weekends. Also, though, I think the book loses its way a bit in the late-middle. Having set up the marvellously weird and happy family and house, it then spends most of "Book Five" in the city, with Auberon the younger being miserable and drunk and delusional. It's a whole chunk - unlike the rest of the book - that's not fun to read. And staring out at the shops and shoppers on the Walworth Road kept taking precedence.
Anyway, seem to be through that mire now, and into the last 100 pages. Things are hotting up, and (again like Neal Stephenson) there's the feeling that a plot has been going on behind my back all along...
I never actually finished Little Big. Technically that means I'm still finishing it a year later. I think Joff rates it though.
ReplyDeleteHe loooooves it. It is his dog-eared copy that I am leafing my way through. 'Bout time I read something of his, anyway - he's had a shelf of stuff from me.
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