Read one of the Thraxas novels at the weekend. I’ll say up front that they are good novels — funny, well-plotted, slightly bizarre — but they are not as good as Martin Millar‘s main novels which he seems to have stopped writing. A great pity.
Why was I reading this though? I’ve read them before, so there is nothing new to gain. I think that there are two reasons. Firstly, I seem some of Thraxas in myself. He’s surrounded my amazing happenings, but can only rarely see it. My job is a bit like this. Looking back on the research I have done, and the changes that have happened in my life time is stunning. Like everything, in collapses into mundanity while you are actually doing it. The second reason is that I was fairly tired and hadn’t slept well. Under such circumstances, you need something tight enough to interest you, but light enough to not demand too much thought.
It’s a pity really. A few years ago (well, six or seven years ago), I went on a holiday on a boat. I was miles away from anywhere and trapped with no where to go. So I read a history book (E.P.Thomspon’s, the Making of the English Working Class). I got 2/3’s of the way through it, and have never finished it off. For such things you need a clear mind. Perhaps, I should go on another holiday, miles from nowhere.
Originally published on my old blog site.