Book ten


The island of the day before

Umberto Eco



Oh you know, it’s the old 17th c story of a man shipwrecked in the pacific, who whilst floating on a board bumps into another ship at anchor.  Said 17th c hero proceeds to lift himself unto this new ship to discover it is full of food, drinking water, kegs of liquor, caged hens laying eggs, a greenhouse full of veg fruitfully sprouting and hidden somewhere deep within the bowels of this ship is a priest, who may or may not have the plague.  The entire crew has left the ship for a nearby island where they are promptly eaten by savages.


A lot of nothing happens for about 789 pages while the two discourse on the nature of longitude and latitude.


At some point an orange dove, well, comes into existence and that runs on for about another 627 pages.


The sun shines. Brightly.  And that takes another 841 pages.


By the end of the book we realize the emperor has no clothes, and I have suffered through half a million pages of some of the most tedious and inane literature ever slapped together and glued between two covers.


Ugh. Glad that one is over with. Can’t wait to start the next book!

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