Naked Lunch and the Silmarillion were ok reads. (Well, Naked Lunch was really screwed up, but otherwise OK.) I read the silmarillion primarily in bubble baths. That helped. Otherwise I'd get a headache. And of course, the rest of Tolkien is delightful as well. I'm quite fond of fantasy; I'm perfectly happy to lose myself in a world of pure fiction once in a while. I actually can't stand most real-world fiction. Occasionally a book pops out, like Michael Crichton's first work, "A Case of Need" (originally published under a pseudonym). But not often. The odd Sherlock Holmes is alright, too. But again, not often.

No one ever told me Grapes of Wrath would be a good read. And it wasn't. I had to read it for school and it made me want to tear my eyes out. I haven't ever read any book before that made me picture it in black and white instead of color. That was it. Argh. John Steinbeck is far too depressing to force angsty teenagers to read. I wouldn't be surprised if some correlation could be shown between a rise in suicide rates and Steinbeck units in American Literature classes.

Gees, I think that is the only book I had to read in school that I honestly didn't like. I loved Hawthorne, Orwell, Fitzgerald... I loved it all. Except Steinbeck. And as far as reading for myself, I don't remember the last time I put down a self-chosen book because I didn't like it.