Between Books

I started reading when I was very young. I read everything I could get my hands on. At that time, I read my fair share of nonfiction, but fiction has always been my love. I even read all the Readers Digest condensed books I found around the house. Over the course of time I found a great affinity for fantastic literature, including horror, science fiction & fantasy.
I had a high school teacher who assigned the class to read A Clockwork Orange. It blew me away. I had never read anything like it. I have read a lot of the classics, not just in sf like H. G. Wells, but also Steinbeck, Faulkner, Shakespeare, Chekov (not sure if I'm spelling his name right), Joyce, etc., etc. It was A Clockwork Orange, however, that started me on "genre" literature.
The next book I remember reading that set the hook even deeper, was The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula Le Guin. I was living in an old (late 1600's/early 1700's) farm house with 3 friends, and going to college. And yep, the house was haunted, but that's another story. Of course, while going to school there is very little time to do much pleasure reading, as any student will tell you. So it wasn't until years later that my education in other worlds & realities began in earnest.
More next time.

I just read Grey by Jon Armstrong. I was impressed, no, I was struck, by the book. It was a sharp look at shallow characters in a greedy & corrupt corporate world. The author had a way of creating a very visual story with his use of description. The story never let go. Even at those moments I found very little to like about the characters, I couldn't put it down.
I don't want to give any of the plot away, but this was a rather bizarre love story for one thing. Think in terms of Romeo & Juliet, each with a father that runs competing coporations. Corporate assassins, espionage, betrayal and revenge are the order of the day, and it's quite a strange day. Sometime in a bleak but colorful future.
It's also a coming of age tale of the protagonist, Michael. He has a lot of reality to face, and growing to do. Although, where this leads him, I will leave to you to discover, and how much actual growth takes place, you can decide.
I finished the book last night under the constant harassment of my cockatiel, Harry. He believes books are only good for chewing on.
I still am not sure how I feel about the book, but it was ingenius. Very hard to describe. What comes to mind is Shakespeare on acid with shades of William Gibson & Neal Stephenson, with a taste of The Naked Lunch thrown in for good measure, and that doesn't really do it justice. One thing I can say, is that it's a work of art, and even for those who find it hard to enjoy it still has a lot to say, or rather, to experience.
Harry is now insisting upon a head rub, and I, after all, am just the servant here.