[GasDad]

You get to the last word of a book and take a minute to think about what you've read.

Most of the time, I feel that was good/ok/brilliant, but occasionally part of me is thinking - "that was bloody fantastic", the other part of me is whispering from the back "What a load of pretentious nonsense" or "that wasn't really about anything was it?".


A couple that spring to mind - Thomas Pynchon's 'Gravitiy's Rainbow' and
Neal Stephenson's '"Cryptomonicum".

Does anyone else experience the same?

[Toasty]

There are definitely times in certain books where I think the Author is getting a bit carried away, however, if the majority of the book is good I can forgive the odd moment of self indulgence.