I’m finally reading Stephen Fry’s
I'm finally reading Stephen Fry's autobiography, Moab Is My Washpot. I bought it as a gift last year sometime, meaning to borrow it and read it at some point, and the time has finally arrived. I'm about a third of the way through, and will probably IMHO it when I'm done, but I have to admit I'm finding it hard going. I'll bow to no one in my admiration for his wit, erudition and general style and presence, but my word he's an aggravating autobiographer. I mean, I'm hardly the world's least-digressing person myself, but even I find myself getting more and more annoyed by his ongoing strayings from the point and more especially his habit of referencing things that will happen years ahead of the point the narrative has reached, not once or twice, but over and over again. I very, very, rarely give up on books mid-read, but this one could join that select group if things don't improve soon.