I went to book club last Tuesday night. The book was Being Dead by Jim Crace. This will be a short post. Following the principal of if you haven’t got something nice to say don’t say anything, I haven’t got much to say about this book. It is the story of how a couple in the their mid 50s are murdered on the beach, how their bodies decay over the days until they are found and how their lives led up to the point of their murder. There is no doubt in my mind that Crace is an amazing, poetic and lyrical writer. But even if he writes beautifully, when he is writing about what happens to the body after death I just don’t need it. Yuck! I must say though that I finished the book. I have a personal rule about not finishing books that I don’t like but in this case I really wanted to finish the book even though I hated it. I attribute this to morbid curiosity much like how you can’t stop staring at an accident when you drive past it even though you know you shouldn’t be interested in someone else’s misfortune.