Post-match analysis

Just to warn you, this is going to start with a post-match interview where I as myself stupid questions and receive banal answers in response. You may wish to skip to the end. Or not, because that might bore even me. But to continue with the football theme I picked up at half-time, we've gone through squeaky bum time, raced into a lead only to get forced back and camped out on the edge of the penalty area in the final ten minutes. Or to put it another way, it was all going so well until December became an endless string of social engagements. But fortunately I was able to hold on to claim all three points with a last-ditch tackle in the final minute.

Ok, enough of that. Looking back, I can't really say that my opinions have changed on the first four point I made six months ago: it remained a challenge, it was not a problem finding things I wanted to read, I definitely read some things I probably wouldn't have otherwise, and that the blog is a good record for Poisterity (whoever he is).

And I feel pretty much the same about the categories too. I loved the non-fiction and some of it definitely ended up in other categories. I cracked crime and discovered not just classic stuff, plenty of which I want to read more of, but also how broad the genre could be. Still hit and miss on the pre-20th century stuff, but, like the Pulitzer winners, the quality is largely obvious, even if it wasn't always my cup of tea (and as I'm sure y'all know, I might make a lot of tea, but my cup of tea is one without any teabags in). Furthermore, I got excuses to read things I'd been intending to for ages from my bookshelf and got another year of interesting debates from book club (thank you everyone). The colours was an interesting choice, the unknown authors threw up some excellent new discoveries and I have to concede (I say concede, I knew this anyway) that Charlie has fantastic taste and knows what I like. And I used my category for the odds and sods that wouldn't fit anywhere else, usually on the random whims that took me at certain times. I continued to make use of the libraries (yes, cutting and closing them is cultural vandalism) and I still ended up buying more books than I intended to. The more things change...

A few thank yous then, mostly to my readers, whoever you may be and however sporadically you may have looked in on this. So that's you, Mum, Dad, Phil (the only person who commented), Porker, Em, Vik, Rhi, Tim, Cat, Kirsty, Tim, Gareth (the only person who subscribed), Sarah, Jan, anyone else I may have forgotten, and, obviously, Charlie (thank you for telling me not to give up, even if I may have wanted to). So yeah, things change but the world keeps going and so, I suppose do I. I'm still a sentimental at heart though and that's not gonna change any time soon.

Some random shout outs for books that didn't make the top ten (coming up), but that had an influence in some way:
Affluenza – Oliver James: reading the right thing at the right time can be great but also not always helpful.
The Good Fairies of New York – Martin Millar: best random find.
Cult Fiction – Ardie Collins: best book by someone I had a pint with (and a very nice chap he is too).
Blood Meridian – Cormac McCarthy: one of the toughest, bleakest things I've ever picked up, yet still found hard to put down.
Room – Emma Donoghue: probably surprised me the most in that I enjoyed it having not really expected to.
Beloved – Toni Morrison: on the flipside, perhaps the biggest disappointment.
The Blasphemer – Nigel Farndale: most unintentionally hilarious.
A Dance with Dragons – George R.R. Martin: the only hardback I've bought in some time, who was I kidding when I thought I could wait? High expectations and a huge wait aside, it definitely wasn't the best in the series, but here's hoping the final two get back on track.
The Host – Stephenie Meyer: the one I might have been embarrased to be seen reading in public (or private, for that matter).
Jane Eyre – Charlotte Brontë: the classic that I'd never read, had somehow managed to acquire no knowledge of the plot of, and really enjoyed.

And on to the top ten then. Once more, in no particular order, here we go:
The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald: pretty much flawless.
The Easter Parade – Richard Yates: depressing but wonderfully captures the lives of ordinary people and the hell that can be their lives.
The Big Over Easy – Jasper Fforde: laugh out loud funny, inventive and held together with a superb plot.
The Virgin Suicides – Jeffrey Eugenides: dazzlingly good writing, a tale of youth.
Fup – Jim Dodge: a perfectly formed modern fairy tale.
The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafón: a page turner in the best sense of the term.
Matilda – Roald Dahl: I still love it.
A Short History of Nearly Everything – Bill Bryson: much like Nick Hornby, he can make anything he chooses to write about interesting and it kept me entertained while I also had good company, good music and good beer to attend to.
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love – Ramond Carver: short and to the point, I liked it as much as I expected to.
A Visit from the Goon Squad – Jennifer Egan: funny, wise and touching, it broke my heart and put it back together several times during its course.

And that, friends, I believe might be the sound of a fat lady warming up her vocal chords. Smoke me a kipper...