I once read a book called - "Floating Turds". I kid you not.
I remember that I read it over a weekend trip to an area where my family had lived in the past, when I had been a kid. My memories of the place and the people there have all been formed during the visits there, and nothing from the time of residing there. I had been very young, clearly.
In any case, this particular trip happened when I was almost in college, and I remember being insufferably stand-offish and bemoaning the idea of going back to this strange, old industrial township. I say strange because its a small town, a walled-off to outsiders small town and everyone knows everyone. Only people who worked in the PSU there and their families lived there. My father had worked there for a while when I had been a toddler and had a lot of friends. So, we were visiting, again.
The thing was, the kids that I played with on my trips back had all flown their nests the previous year, or were in the process of fleeing their small town existence that summer. And so, the trip was a waste, for me and my sister. And for my parents as well, because every house we visited had depressed parents talking about the kids who left, or who were so eager to leave, it made my parents feel bad for their friends.
The weekend was made worse by PMS and the acidity produced by the painkiller I was taking for the pain. So, I remember that I had stuffed a library book in my bag and pull it out. It had the strangest title, and it had been mere curiosity that had made me borrow it - how could someone get a reader for a book with such a title, I remember wondering as I scanned it out. Well, the writer had people like me to thank, I guess. The curiosity in humanity would never cease.
The book, notwithstanding its unappealing, nay, fairly disgusting title, was not a bad read. It was set in Los Angeles with an outsider vs insiders plot arc. Kind of Cecilia Ahern-ish minus Ireland. The story happened amidst the shiny people of showdom and their preoccupation with the newest in -thing. Which happened to be a book about turds and whether one's poop floated or not. I kid you not.
Now eye-grabby titles are all the rage. But back when I'm talking about, fifteen odd years ago (This was an old book I had borrowed- so add another 5-10 years to arrive at the publishing and import date) , this book title, at least for India, was scandalous. I wondered who let this book come into the country and if they even knew what the word 'turd' meant.
So, while the book was an average read, the title clearly stands as a memorable one. It occurs to me that most people would have read such books in their past, where the Title called out to us, while the substance didn't match up. Kind of like a lukewarm date with a great looking person.
I remember that I read it over a weekend trip to an area where my family had lived in the past, when I had been a kid. My memories of the place and the people there have all been formed during the visits there, and nothing from the time of residing there. I had been very young, clearly.
In any case, this particular trip happened when I was almost in college, and I remember being insufferably stand-offish and bemoaning the idea of going back to this strange, old industrial township. I say strange because its a small town, a walled-off to outsiders small town and everyone knows everyone. Only people who worked in the PSU there and their families lived there. My father had worked there for a while when I had been a toddler and had a lot of friends. So, we were visiting, again.
The thing was, the kids that I played with on my trips back had all flown their nests the previous year, or were in the process of fleeing their small town existence that summer. And so, the trip was a waste, for me and my sister. And for my parents as well, because every house we visited had depressed parents talking about the kids who left, or who were so eager to leave, it made my parents feel bad for their friends.
The weekend was made worse by PMS and the acidity produced by the painkiller I was taking for the pain. So, I remember that I had stuffed a library book in my bag and pull it out. It had the strangest title, and it had been mere curiosity that had made me borrow it - how could someone get a reader for a book with such a title, I remember wondering as I scanned it out. Well, the writer had people like me to thank, I guess. The curiosity in humanity would never cease.
The book, notwithstanding its unappealing, nay, fairly disgusting title, was not a bad read. It was set in Los Angeles with an outsider vs insiders plot arc. Kind of Cecilia Ahern-ish minus Ireland. The story happened amidst the shiny people of showdom and their preoccupation with the newest in -thing. Which happened to be a book about turds and whether one's poop floated or not. I kid you not.
Now eye-grabby titles are all the rage. But back when I'm talking about, fifteen odd years ago (This was an old book I had borrowed- so add another 5-10 years to arrive at the publishing and import date) , this book title, at least for India, was scandalous. I wondered who let this book come into the country and if they even knew what the word 'turd' meant.
So, while the book was an average read, the title clearly stands as a memorable one. It occurs to me that most people would have read such books in their past, where the Title called out to us, while the substance didn't match up. Kind of like a lukewarm date with a great looking person.
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