I have just finished reading England, England by Julian Barnes. It was for my book club so I was in rather a race to finish it but then my book club got cancelled. Rather a bugger, I was halfway through one of the Cazelet Chronicles when I decided that, really, I had to get started on the Julian Barnes book.
The book club was cancelled because X hadn’t finished the book, Y hadn’t started the book and Z’s husband was working late so she had to stay home with the kids. There are some other members but I don’t think they have ever turned up or responded to the emails about the book club so perhaps it is time to cull them from the list.
England, England is worth a read. It is a bit “difficult” in places, which makes me sad – I used to have a good brain. Or perhaps, it really is rather more difficult a book than I’m used to. Wikipedia says that the “novel thereby relates to Baudrillard‘s concept of simulacra and negotiates the meaning of replicas in a postmodern age”. Which does sound difficult and therefore makes me feel better.