Zadie Smith, On Boo'ty (booy)!

I've wanted to read On Beauty for aages on the strength of the recommendations of friends and now we have a holiday I can read my first holiday book. w00t. Such a holiday as this is planned for the end of May so I should be well aquainted with the second chapter by then. mmm, nice.

I'll say something useful about the book when I've read it (in another ten months maybe?) but until then, read the first paragraph to White Teeth.

This might well be the bestest ever opening paragraph to a book in the whole world ever...

Early in the morning, late in the century, Cricklewood Broadway. At 06.27 hours on 1 January 1975, Alfred Archibold Jones was dressed in courdroy and sat in a fume-filled Cavalier Muskateer Estate face down on the steering wheel, hoping the judgement would not be too heavy upon him. He lay forward in a prostrate cross, jaw slack, arms splayed either side like some fallen angel; scrunched up in each fist he held his army service medsals (left) and his marriage licence (right), for he had decided to take his mistkaes with him. A little green light flashed in his eyes, signalling a right turn he had resolved never to make. He was resigned to it. He was preperaed for it. He had flipped a coin and stood staunchly by its conclusions. This was decided-upon suicide. In fact it was a New Years resolution.

Doesn't that first paragraph make you want to eat up that whole novel and suck it like a polaroid picture?!

Unforunately, White Teeth by Zadie Smith is a book that's bigger than my brains which is the reason I'm currently reading On Beauty instead. Happy days.