Date: 20/11/10 09:36 pm (UTC)
"Lovely Bones" was an impulse buy of mine in an airport. I'd finished my "plane book" by half way through a journey and had to grab something quickly while changing planes. So I was kind of trapped with it, and actually wound up liking it.

I've read a lot of the classics, either because they were assigned reading, or because I was curious (I went through a stage in my late teens where I was terribly "serious" about things - read Sartre and the Russians, and O'Neil and Williams.) But I know what you mean about the "happy little romance book". Candidly, give me Georgette Heyer any day over the damned Bronte sisters - either her mysteries or her romances. And certainly over the likes of Dan Brown. At least her stuff is meticulously researched, and she can write a paragraph that doesn't sound as if it's come from a "learning to read" book. But then, I rarely feel guilty about what I read. I adore Terry Pratchett, read everything that Sally Vickers writes, return to Heyer unhesitatingly in times of stress and depression and yet read Shakespeare for fun. Reading, like life, for me, is all about balance.
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