The post-person delivered another book for me to review today. I always open review books hopefully, but a little nervously. Ploughing through something I hate and then having to write a review is tedious, and I resent the time it takes, but the lovely feeling that accompanies reading a fresh voice, a good writer, is brilliant. Plus, of course, I am ever so delighted by FREE books, to be paid to read fiction and give an opinion is a (mini) dream come true.
Anyway, these proofs always come with a publishers blurb which attempt to sell both the novel and the author. I have never read a blurb with such…I’m not sure, gob smacked envy? My goodness, this woman seems to have lived a life I didn’t know really could exist out of the pages of a novel. She may well be a wonderful person, so I don’t want to name her, but to give a flavour of the bio:
Ms Posh Name is 27. She is very beautiful, her lovely face adorns the blurb. She is an actress, and a prize winning classical musician, she is also a journalist who writes for all the decent newspapers one can think of. Did I mention her double first at Cambridge? Her Masters at Harvard? She is married, does a lot of charity work, and wrote this debut novel in-between filming scenes whilst on location. I have no idea what the book will be like, but cripes, sitting here, fat, old, with a cold and aches and holding my very own pity party, I just feel so inadequate.