I really need to catch up with my review books (did ANYBODY get anything done over Christmas? I sure didn’t!).
However, instead of catching up with new reads I’ve been heading back to books I read more than twenty years ago.
Who didn’t go through a Virginia Andrews phase? Most people I know hit that period somewhere around year seven, when reading things like Flowers in the Attic was considered adult and edgy (and really bloody incestuous!). I have a mountain of largely second-hand paperbacks by Andrews and the ghost writer who took over after her death – all family melodramas worthy of soap operas.
No idea why, but I’m rereading a few of these truly trashy books at the moment (spoiler: they’re nowhere near as good as I thought they were back in the 1990s!).
I think sometimes revisiting old books isn’t the best idea.