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Am I the only person in the English speaking world that hates The Time-Traveler’s Wife? I admit, I’ve only read the first eighty pages but so far it seems the most awful load of arse. The two main characters are so bloody unbelievable, so utterly, utterly perfect – He with his musician parents and erudite bookshelves, she, so tall and slender with her red-gold hair and pale skin and childhood home full of stereotype servants – she just screams Mary Bloody Sue to me and the style – the writing style seems so stilted and turgid; it reads like the author read some of the best pre-war authors and decided she could write a book Just Like Theirs.

I’m prepared to believe it gets better as the book goes on*. It has to (doesn’t it?) Because otherwise the glowing reviews that led me to read this tripe are just puzzling. I shall persist (though at the moment I want to fling the thing through a window).

La di da. Life continues to amaze me with its mysteries. I have Californian Shiraz, I have little crunchy, oaty things. I have cheesy crisps and damn fine comedy on DVD and a whole evening free to enjoy them. ::comforts self with this knowledge::

*It didn’t. I threw it on the fire**.

**No I didn’t, but I wanted to.

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