The Boys in the Boat

Suffering truly is a choice.

It is rare I dislike reading a book; however this was one of those times.  And!! (And!! This really gets to me!!) I ROWED IN COLLEGE!  THIS WAS MY SPORT!

Around page 120, I thought to myself, “OK, when are you going to start the story?”

At page 190,  I realized I was feeling an emotion of gratitude whenever I met with white-space and pictures.

It was around this same place I also noticed I had started to fantasize about how great it was going to feel to be able to throw the book into my garbage can. (It’s a fate I save for books I feel robbed me of time; and some poor nameless tree in Oregon of life, without cause.  It’s sort of like their own Green Mile, only rectangular and made of plastic.)

By page 200, I realized I’d made the decision to dislike the book and it would be nearly impossible for the author to redeem himself given my psychological disposition.

At page 270, I decided I’d given the author (and the book club which selected this iron-maiden of lexical penance) enough of a chance and I stopped reading.

I don’t think I missed anything useful in the pursuant 100 pages. (SPOILER ALERT: They go to the Olympics and beat the Nazis…Actually, they beat the Italians. Germany came in third on that race.)

I willingly admit I could be wrong.  Heck, the first time I listened to Pearl Jam’s Vitalogy album, I thought it was crap. It wasn’t until I listened to it again a few years later that I remember sitting on my couch with a snifter exclaiming, “Oh my God! This album is brilliant!” (If you disagree, I blame the cognac.)

Maybe I’m just not ready to receive the story or the style. This might be a work of great historical literature.  The story might make a great “feel good” film similar in spirit to Chariots of Fire. There’s certainly enough footage from these races to undertake a project of that sort.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to dispense with something.


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