First Sentence: It was three o’clock on Saturday afternoon, the end of a typically long week, and Richard Anger – the owner of the last little bookshop in town – was waiting for a cab to take him to the airport.
Back of the book:
Two holidaymakers die of a mysterious condition while on holiday in Corfu, piquing neurologist Lauren Furrows’s interest. She investigates, finding help in the unlikely form of Richard Anger: independent bookshop owner, avant-garde (unpublished) short story writer and borderline alcoholic. Together they discover the killer: best-selling author Gary Sayles and his insipid novels. Will they be able to stop him before millions die?
Wildly humorous, this is a book that will challenge and play with your brain, wryly.
Quote from the book:
The industry looks at the public as two groups of people – readers and people who read – and then the industry decides what’s going to be read by each group. Now your average ‘reader’ has the luxury of being better informed about what’s going on and so they’re reasonably wise to the game. but say you’re the sort of person who reads Gary Sayles. Not a reader. Someone who reads. You read what you’re told to read. Or at the very least what you’re made aware of. The bestsellers. And you’re constantly being shortchanged because there’s a discrepancy between what the industry needs you to read to keep the industry afloat – the units it manufactures, in bulk – and what you might, given half a chance, actually want to read. It’s really unhealthy. And it’s a vicious circle.
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Last Sentence: And books did what they were supposed to do.