Anybody out there...

Hrmph: this is the noise I keep making (sort of).

Bloody effing Marian Keyes and her great writing has depressed me. Chick-lit was never meant to be like this. Just flipping well finished her book 'Anybody out there', which was bought in haste from Tesco while I did the grocery shopping the week before my holidays began, and thought the pastel colours and little butterflies on the cover – plus the gold 'bestseller' thingy – could surely only indicate a good holiday read replete with laughs and more laughs.

I started the book in Paris but then, mercifully, was busy being in Paris, which is definitely a blessing. I continued reading it on the Eurostar home but didn't reach the most gruelling bits, and have dipped in and out of it when I've had the chance, over the past week.

I don't like to swear too much, but really, how fucking sad should a chick-lit book make the reader feel? Marian, you got me. If I start reprising the plot here, well, that would be silly. You may wish to read it if you fancy a cathartic cry (because, it will, if you have a heart, make you weep and will scare you with its darkness), and also, this Keyes woman does make most of the characters leap off the page into your lap. There were a few too many characters (get me, criticising a best-selling author, ha ha...) but I thought the bits about the protagonist's younger sister went on too long and I skimmed them.

So, I've finished the book and now want to read something that will reverse my sombre mood. Please.

At least I have a kung fu class later and can count on some endorphins from that. If anybody does read this blog – anybody out there?! – please comment and suggest some good reading material that will allow me to enjoy the rest of my week off. Thanks.

Hrmph...