I went on a little shopping spree last night and purchased two of the Booker shortlisted offerings, The Testament of Mary and The Luminaries. These I am reading to keep abreast of what's happening in literature, and frankly, to hold my own in snooty literati conversations. Neither book is what I would call my cup of tea. But these books are not the crux of my gripe... As I was shopping, I suddenly remembered a trilogy of books I had come across in my travels through Hinduism that are a quasi-fantasy fictionalization of the life of Shiva. The Shiva trilogy by Amish Tripathi. I had one of those oh, yeah, yeah, get these now before I forget again moments and bought all three with childish excitement. Three pages into the first book and I want to rip the ebook format into a .txt and fix it. This trilogy is touted as the best selling set of books of it's kind across the length and breadth of India. And yes, I checked, a best-seller to be sure. But Vishnu on a pony with a bad leg, the writing is godawful. I'm trying to read through it, to get to the story, but it's like running through sawgrass and trying to see how pretty it is, never mind your shredded legs.