McRum Tidings

The Guardian has posted, after careful consideration by one Robert Mc(c)Rum, it’s top 100 English language novels of all time.

I can recall reading 29 of them in decades well past.

Of the 29, which is all that I’m vaguely qualified to comment upon, about 5 or so would have made any top list that I might compile.

One odd thing is the oft selection of obscure books by great authors, probably in an attempt to club the belletristic proletariat into guileless submission.

As in ‘comment not; here there be monsters.’

And then there’s the Nobels – not to be queried. Voss, exempli gratia; if ever a more pretentious toilet roll decoration were brewed I know not it’s name.

And to top it off, the Obscures. You haven’t read all one hundred, have you? Implied harrumph follows.

That McRum(c), he is a literary pensioner; scraping a living off creating the wordy impression that no effort been spared to create the impression that no impression is intended. Wordy.

C, McRum can write just fine but unfortunately he has nothing to say.

Woe be McRum. C.