Before Christmas, we were at Gatwick airport waiting for our flight to Spain to see the family. As usual, Laura and I hit the book stores to get some books for whilst we’re in Spain. It’s a useful way to catch up on any good books that have come out but we haven’t had time to find out about.

They had a whole section dedicated to modern literature classics. As a book fan, I do find it a bit embarrassing when I have to admit that I haven’t read a certain classic that appears to have been read by everyone and their dog. So here was an opportunity to get some of these books and finally get down to reading them.

Having read and been impressed with Reading Lolita in Tehran, I thought I should read Lolita. As Ms Nafisi had impressed me with her own book, I thought her recommendation that Lolita be viewed as a literary work about a mans obsession destroying not only the object of his desire, but also his own self, sounded compelling.

Sadly her recommendation sounded better than the actual experience. I managed about 40 pages before being bored beyond belief. Skimming through to see if it might get more interesting, I realised it really is what everyone thinks. A book about a dirty old man.

Not to worry, I had bought more books. Next up was Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Hmmm … seems this is actually a philosophical look at a road trip.

30 pages. That’s how long it took me to get really, and I mean really, bored.

Damn it, maybe I’m just selecting things too high brow for me (some may think by now that Neanderthal wall paintings are probably too high brow for me). So straight to American Psycho, that sounds like it might be a bit more action orientated.

Let’s see, 100 pages, vague hints at some murders ??? Seems to be very obsessed with what clothes he’s wearing and others are wearing. Cocaine use so high nobody remembers others names. Very boring. God, I can’t abandon a third book. Let’s keep on. Hey, bizarre incredibly detailed graphic description of characters sex life. ??? Hey, now a murder. A pointless and callous murder, but that’s OK, that’s the point, he’s a narcisstic psycho. And hey, another graphic sex scene. Ugh. It’s just ended in an even more graphic murder. Errr … no must continue reading. Hey, another murder. Wow, even more detailed. And another sex murder, now with even more detail. Now another double sex murder with detail that makes me want to stop the book. No, I’ll continue. There’s only about fifty more pages to get through. Wait a second. What the hell’s he going to do with the brie … Sweet Jesus, Bret Easton Ellis is fucked up. That’s it, this book goes straight into the bin.

Three modern classics of literature, three amazing disappointments (though American Psycho beats Lolita and Zen by about a million miles). I bought some 70′s Doctor Who books from eBay. Serious British SciFi pulp fiction. I’ll be reading those for the time being.