It has not taken me more than a month to read “Peyton Place.” In fact, I’ve read several books within the past month, but I just haven’t been moved to write about them. I find a rare free hour so I want to get this monkey off my back, break the dam, so to speak, and get some writing done about a book I enjoyed.
To fulfill the Classics Challenge 2016 category of a trashy novel, I read “Peyton Place.” (Some people private messaged me: “What constitutes trash?” I answered with something I should have put in my original post: “It’s trash if you are vaguely embarrassed to tell someone what you’re reading.”)
Interestingly, my wife and I both separately chose “Peyton Place” to read for this category. I was looking for something with little redeeming value, bad writing, salacious plot, horrid dialogue and phony characters. I gleefully sharpened my poisoned pen. Instead, I got a fairly well-written book that, despite a meandering plot, was not bad. It was almost a disappointment.