I am currently having another attempt to read Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. See if I can get to half way this time!
I thought it was disappointing and overrated
God yes. My wife quite liked him and made me read Ghostwritten, which I hated. Unfortunately I'd forgotten who he was when she suggested Cloud Atlas as a response to me being about to fly off somewhere and needing a book to read.
My personal hell will be a library stocked only with books by David Mitchell, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Yann Martell and certain David Carey. But I won't be allowed to read them - they will be performed to me as modern dance or performance art on alternate days for all eternity.
Anyway...
I have recently "discovered" G.K. Chesterton . He's one of those people I've always been aware of but never got around to reading. I really enjoyed "The Man Who Was Thursday". Very clever premise and very funny, even if the ending is a little weak.
On the strength of that I started reading the Father Brown Stories. They're good in parts but his Roman Catholicism is very heavy at times. Fortunately it's leavened considerably by his wit. This made me sniggger:
"It was one of those journeys on which a man perpetually feels that now at last he must have come to the end of the universe, and then finds he has only come to the beginning of Tufnell Park."
The introduction to the book made me laugh as well. Apparently he was notably absent-minded and once sent his wife a telegram saying "Am at Market Harborough. Where ought I to be ?"