When in a reading funk I often turn to something small and simple to get me going again. When I looked through the to-read pile of fifteen, I mentally divided them into books I liked last year (but no more), books that have been there for ten years that I should throw out, and mindless novelty pap you don’t tell your friends about. It was to the latter that I turned in my hour of need. 
Marley and Me is a New York Times Bestseller, which is no commendation really, but my gullible self must have bought into it when I read the reviews on Amazon. I got it cheap on Ebay and it was a three day read. I hated the ordinary language, the predictable way it took you from joy to sadness when it wanted to, and I particularly hated how I wept tears at the end, when Marley died – I’m blaming Sinutab medication partly for this. It was my first crazy-neurotic-dog-that-should-have-been-put-down-but-makes-good story, and probably my last. It has the lasting appeal of a cheeseburger, but I have to confess it got me turning the pages. What’s with those stupid snowflake patterns on the cover! Oh well, I guess it’s time for me to start on something more robust like The Volcano, which I happened to notice got a mention on A Fugitive Phenomenon recently. Ulysses can wait another year I think.