As a cop I recall the ‘Police Promotions Examination Manual’ (containing both the Sergeants’ & Inspectors’ curriculum), housed in a blue hardback cover resembling a brick, but marginally bigger. This publication was my apex of anxiety, although I guess I used this pain to focus on passing both examinations in a matter of months so that I could wave goodbye to the wretched object.
Works of fiction frequently fared the same fate. Anything that meandered, plodded, or sought to describe every brick in the wall of the invented scene, was simply discarded. I have lost count of the novels that I started and subsequently shelved by chapter three. I wonder, am I alone in this trait?
In 2014 The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt, won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction, although,…