Read a recent review on a friend’s blog about the movie Pride and Prejudice, an adaptation of Jane Austen’s book of the same name.

It brought to memories the various books I have read and the infinite influence they have had over me.

One of the first series of book I read was the children’s thriller series, The Three Investigators by Enid Blyton.

Though I do not remember the character names, the stories and the personality of each character is as vivid in my mind as if I read them yesterday. The constant rebelliousness and inquisitiveness of the leader of the group, the mischievousness of the youngest boy and the wittiness of the middle boy are experiences which I still have not forgotten.

After that came the ‘classics’ Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Victor Hugo, Virgil etc, basically all the authors I could lay hands on. I usually looked out for the penguin classic series as I trusted them to choose good books to be in that collection.

Following that entire knowledge overload, I decided to try the modern authors who were so revered by various aspects of society. I tried Grisham, Sheldon etc and found them to be sorely lacking in what might justifiably be my biased tastes.

I am by no means an author of any right. It takes me more than a week to come up with an intelligent and coherent post for my blog, post which I hope are good enough for the general public to read. Writing anything without the help of a spell checker is unheard of in my world. I am also equally bad at remembering quotes, or sentences or authors, titles, character names etc, memories which are crucial for usage in any conversation.

However, having read a decent amount of books in my lifetime, I find the modern authors sorely lacking. If they have a good story, their usage of grammar and vocabulary are woefully inadequate. If the language is good then the story is bad. Either way, something or another is always lacking in them.

Having said that, there are undoubtedly brilliant modern authors who are just as good in the art of novel writing as any of the classic authors I know and its been a real pleasure reading them. Forsyth is such an author who springs to mind. His first book, The Day of the Jackal is a masterpiece in its own right and I love the way he transports me from my couch to his character’s world with ease and nonchalance.

That’s all till now. Presently, I am in a midst of having reader’s block. I just finished Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, another brilliant book which must be read a second time to completely comprehend what the author is trying to say. Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be interested in reading anything, let alone spend time reading heavy stuff or stuff worth reading, though I do hope to bypass this soon enough.


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