Do you ever feel about books they way you do about kittens? You try to walk past them at the store, but they call out to you and you know its a mistake, but you turn around, pick them up, read the back cover and set them down on the table. And then, guilt strikes you. These books need a good home. No one else has come through the bookstore to choose these hardbacks and the bookseller will just destroy them if no one takes them home. So. . . in spite of the voice in your head that says just keep walking, you go back and buy the books with the ever present hope that you won’t regret spending money on something that’s bound to be a disappointment? Well, if you’ve ever felt this way, welcome to my Christmas book purchases.
So, a few weeks ago, I brought home some promising ‘sale’ books all with a Christmas theme. Not to belabor the point, but I’ve been bored with each one of them. Well, not counting the one I could hardly get through because it was so ridiculous. Patrick Taylor’s “An Irish Country Christmas” was, I was sure, going to be the one to save the lot. But I couldn’t get past one more whisky-soaked page without having to take a break. Catherine Palmer’s, “A Victorian Christmas” didn’t feel Victorian at all–the stories were so short it was hard to get an concise feeling at all. And Cecelia Ahern’s “The Gift?” Hello, does she think no one remembers “It’s a Wonderful Life?” I’m all for repackaging a beloved story premise, but this one stretches even my generous boundaries. I’d like to see her write a story that doesn’t involve some sort of paranormal character. Anyhoo . . .since I was given a Kindle for Christmas, I’m not into free online e-stories, so I’ll take some time play with the new gadget before I can report on fresh books. Although, I did hit the bookstore again and came out with an armload of new novels–the fat one on top, the new doorstop novel, “The Roses.”