Well, I just stopped midway through another book. And it was surprisingly easy this time. I’m beginning to see a pattern here – take one acknowledged classic, make sure it was written at least 50 years ago, make it a translation from another language, and make it over 400 pages, and it’s a surefire thing that I’ll abandon it. Even if it has all the hallmarks of the things I like most – no dialogue, obsessive characters, little plot.
So, goodbye Elias Canetti, I tried pretty hard to like your stuff. I know it was your only novel. I liked your deluded main character and his book obsession, and even his insane scheming wife. I found it hard to believe in the humpbacked chess-playing dwarf but I went with the flow. I liked how you made the world seem like it was closing in – trapping me and torturing me. It was nightmarish really. But, it was just too long and convoluted for me to follow. I give in.