My generation Book

Review in Elliot Perlman's style:

I liked the book. She didn't, but she lent it to me anyway. I offered her another chance to read it again, but she was always working. In fact, it is not too dramatic to say that I enjoyed the book immensely. But she never understood me. When I think about it now I realised that I have invented her image alone. When we first started we would read together. I didn't think she enjoyed her administration work. But now I think she takes comfort in it. I'll read the book again, without her. The hardcover version weights down my bag, and I can't carry it to the office without her noticing. She went through phases. A while ago she was fond of books with green covers. One night in bed, I asked if she could make me a cup of hot chocolate and she said she had to finish a book of poetry. Having turned the radio off, I wondered if she had ever woken up with an inexplicable panic inside her.




Wait, remind me, what am I writing about?