Maestro, Wish, and Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam are my 'favourite' works of his so far, and I always like bunkering down with a book of his which invariably lead to me jotting down lines I enjoy such as referring to Darwin as "the arsehole of the earth".
So imagine my disappointment at picking up this book which turned out to be one big 'no my penis is bigger than yours, no mine is, no mine is' piece of macho rubbish. I'm not exactly sure what Goldsworthy was aiming at here, other than the complete alienation of his female readers, but the book made me go from bewilderment to anger to just plan disgust as the female lead in the book was treated as little more than a goat to be traded back and forth between two moronic men who never realised the goat was actually a cat and would be useless to them both in the end. And I may have missed the whole point of this one, and maybe this is exactly how I was 'supposed' to feel, but I don't care. I hated it, I hated how it made me feel, and I live in hope that the memory of this book will run out of my eyelids while I am sleeping.
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