In Which I Work Up The Courage To Speak To Strangers On The Metro

She pulled out my last week's nemesis, The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. I debated, as she put the book down for a moment, whether or not I should ask her about it. The book that I got 46 pages through and gave up on.

Neither of these things are normal. I don't give up on books, and I usually don't try to talk to strangers on the train about the books they are reading.

But I was so bored with the book, unable to force myself to get it out and read it (two days in a row). So dry, with the child character being all...unbelievable, I guess, and boring boring boring.

I don't say anything on the train. But she's right behind me on the escalator, so I initiate:

"You're reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog, right?"

Affirmative.

"Are you enjoying it?" I ask.

She makes a sour lemon face. She complained that both characters spoke with the same "voice" even though they were supposed to be completely different. I complained that it was boring. She's reading it for book club so she'll probably stick with it.

Cue relief: that I'm not the only person that thinks that book is incredibly dull.

I probably won't pick it up unless I can get it in French -- not because I'm that sure it will be that much better in French, but because if I'm that bored, I might as well be working at my translation skills at the same time.