Reader, I gave up. Midway through Chapter 4, I realised this book was becoming a serious drain on my reading habits. As a writer, I've never really suffered from writer's block, but I started getting reader's block - that is, I basically stopped reading because I knew that Atlas Shrugged was hanging over my head like the blade from the Pit and the Pendulum.
I would be waiting for my train and would read the advertising posters in French rather than delve into my pocket for the Kindle and Ayn Rand.
So I stopped, and I re-read Of Mice and Men, Blink and Qen to cleanse my mental pallet. Reading is one of the things that make me feel alive, and so attempted to absorb a book that is so patently anti-intellectual was horrific.
Anyway, I'll keep my one-man book club going because I quite enjoy writing about books. The same fate, by the way, befell The Island of the Day Before. I got a few pages in and decided to give the book away. I hope someone else will persevere where I was unable.
Having failed with two Eco books (I've also not managed Faucault's Pendulum), I'm now 2 per cent into The Name of the Rose. So far, it's OK.
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