Like Drinking Poison

So I'm reading this book, Tantrika by Asra Nomani. After the first 10 pages or so, I discovered that I didn't want to read it.

Why am I still reading it, you ask? I feel *obligated* to read it because someone loaned it to me. Isn't that silly? Still, it feels like an assignment, like work.

Now I love to read. I discoverd a long time ago that life is too short and I have waaay to many books to force myself to read bad ones.

But here I am.

What's so bad about this book? Well, to start off with the author is quite self-centered and not very self-aware (either that or she's not a good memoirist) so she often comes off as spoiled, shallow and kind of dumb. The best parts of the book are when she's *not* talking about herself, i.e. stories about her family history in India. Unfortunately, she spends a lot of time talking about herself. A lot.

I have to think, 'she used to write for the Washington Post, so she's not an idiot.' But... Perhaps her strengths as a reporter aren't served by this personal form of writing. Plus, she could have used a good editor. Or maybe she really is just that shallow and uninteresting.

Oh, well. At least I'm down to less than 100 pages. I'm not sure I can make it, though. I could just give the book back to my co-worker and just wing it if she wants to get into some sort of in-depth discussion. Hey, it worked in high school!