Borrowing from Nick, I thought I would review one book. I would tell you that more reviews are to come, but that wouldn't be fair, because I re-read Jane Austen over and over since I'm too lazy to go to the library and pick out something new. And really, who needs another dissertation on Pride and Prejudice's repressive sexuality? No one, that's who.

The other night, I watched the movie Children of Men. After watching the movie, I went home and put my head in the microwave. Never had I watched something so cliche and so gruesome. It disturbed me greatly. I didn't want to, but I borrowed the book from a friend and read it in a day.

While P.D. James is eloquent and well-written (in a very British way), she becomes so Victorian in her writing that one loses momentum. But the pages do get to turning as the reader waits (hopes! prays!) something interesting is going to happen. And interesting things do happen, eventually. Some people die, some other people have things happen to them, and in the end, some people get their just desserts. So, okay, for a read on the weekend, have a go at this book.

But here's where I get disappointed. The pretense of the book is phenomenal. I love it. There are many places James could have gone with this book--it could have wound up as the next Lord of the Flies or Fahrenheit 451 or something else prolific and astounding and thought-provoking. But it doesn't. The punch doesn't follow through to the cheekbone. I'm waiting for the "WHAM" and all I get is the "whiz".

I had this same problem with the movie "Jumpers". I know, tragically awful movie. But just think of what it COULD have been. This is the problem I have with this book. I recommend the book for a car ride or a really boring Sunday. But I would not try to replace Miss Austen with it.

I have also decided that reviewing books is not my forte. I'll stick to mindless blather.