A friend and I were talking about books the other day. We’re both into the same kind of literature. We went through the regular favourites and a few new titles were also mentioned. “I love reading,” I said, as a bit of throw away comment; there was a pause in conversation.
“You should read Love in the Time of Cholera,” he suggested.
The name sounded familiar. “I think I’ve heard of that,” I said. “Who’s the author?”
“A Colombian guy actually. Gabriel Garcia Marquez.”
The following day I went down and purchased a cheap Penguin copy of the book. It was one of the worst things I’d ever read. Definitely in the top three.
I saw my friend a couple of weeks later and complained about it. He’s usually such a reliable source; I couldn’t believe his error in judgement. He laughed. “I was just trying to point out the floored nature of your comment. You can’t just say ‘I love reading.’ What you enjoy is reading material that you’re interested in. If I gave you an accounting textbook and a stack of wine labels I’d doubt you’d get through more than a paragraph.
It was a good point. I just wish he’d pointed it out instead of making me read the book.
“You should read Love in the Time of Cholera,” he suggested.
The name sounded familiar. “I think I’ve heard of that,” I said. “Who’s the author?”
“A Colombian guy actually. Gabriel Garcia Marquez.”
The following day I went down and purchased a cheap Penguin copy of the book. It was one of the worst things I’d ever read. Definitely in the top three.
I saw my friend a couple of weeks later and complained about it. He’s usually such a reliable source; I couldn’t believe his error in judgement. He laughed. “I was just trying to point out the floored nature of your comment. You can’t just say ‘I love reading.’ What you enjoy is reading material that you’re interested in. If I gave you an accounting textbook and a stack of wine labels I’d doubt you’d get through more than a paragraph.
It was a good point. I just wish he’d pointed it out instead of making me read the book.