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Competition time at Metaliterature


In a fit of boredom, I have decided to launch the inaugural Metaliterature Bespoke Review Competition here at Metaliterature! One (or more - I haven't decided yet) lucky person(s) will get a specially written and personalized review of a typically great book. Fancy your chances of winning? Then here's what you do:

1) Look at these stunning photos of a few randomly chosen bookshelves in my house (if you can't read the titles, get some glasses you myopic curmudgeon, or simply click for an enlarged view)
2) Pick ONE book from the literally tens of great titles
3) Go to Twitter and follow @themightybuch and let him know which you choose

The winner(s) will be picked at random, and I will then write that lucky person a personalized and thoroughly entertaining review of their chosen title.

"Fuck me, that sounds brilliant!" I hear you say. Don't be a tit. Still, it'll while away a tedious afternoon for me. All that's left is for you to get in touch! Don't be shy now. Ah go on. Go on etc etc.

Disclaimer: I do not promise to have actually read any of these books and will certainly not do so if you pick such a book. All reviews are to be published on this blog and relentlessly plugged until read by at least two different people, after which they will be gently steamed and served with black rice and edamame beans.

































Sadly, for those just finding this most excellent competition, it is now closed. In fact, it may never have opened in the first place, such was the interest (or lack thereof) shown in the prize.
GBD 8th October 2012

Comments

How's about that then?

Apochryphal Tales by Karel Čapek

Many (many) years ago, when I first read War With The Newts, after scouring the Waterstones' internal database (whimsically named Ibid, and from which one could print the details of books onto the till roll in light- and so it seems, time-sensitive purple ink which, on the inches thick ream of leaves I printed for future perusal, faded within a few months rendering my catalogued wish list so much locker mulch) for authors with a suitably Czech-sounding name, having put away an entrée of my first slim Hrabal, a palate-cleansing Kundera and in need of a meaty Moravian main course, I think I might have completely and totally missed just how funny it was, bloated as I was by the doughy and Victorian-sounding translation and the rather unlikely ideation of the future political terroir of mankind and their unusual amphibian slaves and, latterly, sappers, the newts.

How's that for a sentence David Foster Wallace? INTERROBANG.

Well, there's no chance that Čapek's typically Czech…

Free Fall In Crimson by John D. MacDonald

Trav is back, still grieving the loss of some chickadee or other whose death almost knocked him off his game, but not too shook up to set himself up with a few more lucky lovelies whilst tripping his way through another overly complicated and rather sordidly underwhelming plot. This time, some bikers are making dirty movies with minors on the set of a future classic hot-air-balloon movie. Travis falls into the action because a rich old geyser carks it in unusual circumstances and it affects the trust fund of a former marina-mate. And hirsute intellectual Meyer wets his pants towards the end. 

You may sense a fatigued, sardonic note in my precis. It's not that I don't still love John D., it's just that after embarking on the long game that is reading the entire Travis McGee oeuvre, I'm approaching the end and it feels long overdue. It's been fun, it's been enlightening, but it's also been a schlep. With the realisation I might now have fewer years left to me …

The Lost Time Accidents by John Wray

Fup by Jim Dodge

If there was a comfort-food version of a book for me, then this would be it. It's funny, touching, humanistic, and features so many quotable quotes that its trim 120 pages could be represented in its entirety on some such authors' quotations page.

We're introduced to Tiny on the occasion of his mother's death, lured into a treacherously fatal situation by, of all things, a duck, while her 4-year-old son sleeps in the car where he wakes to a terrifying solitude. Meanwhile, we're treated to a potted but entertaining history of Granddaddy Jake, Tiny's grandfather, into whose care by fair means or foul (no pun intended) he is finally placed. But the titular Fup duck comes along only once Tiny is fully grown (and how!). A lost and lonely duckling, much like Tiny, she's discovered shivering in a freshly dug post hole, which betrays the attention paid to it by Tiny's nemesis, a wild hog called Lockjaw, who enjoys tearing up Tiny's fences just as much as he …