I almost never give up on a book. I keep telling myself that if something got so far as actually being published, it must have some redeeming quality somewhere.
So I tried reading The Third Policeman by Brian O’Nolan.
The Third Policeman is a novel by Irish writer Brian O’Nolan, writing under the pseudonym Flann O’Brien. It was written between 1939 and 1940, but after it initially failed to find a publisher, the author withdrew the manuscript from circulation and claimed he had lost it. The book remained unpublished at the time of his death in 1966. It was published by MacGibbon & Kee in 1967.
My humble opinion is that MacGibbon & Kee should have let this book remain unpublished, untimely death of the author or not.
The book is surreal to the point of being unintelligible – at least to this fat old lady.
And I tried. I really, really tried. I got a little more than half way through the book before I simply decided – life is too short and went looking for something else to read.
Some critics, apparently, have loved this book. Good for them.
The older I get, the less patience I have for a book that is bizarre for the sole purpose of being bizarre.
And if you think my taste in books is pedestrian – could be – don’t care – there are plenty of books in the world, and please feel free to read what pleases you!
I repeat, life is too short.
So now I’m reading some good old Elmore Leonard – who, per the NY Times, is a “A man of few, yet perfect, words.”