What an aptly titled book. It was surprising, because most other times when I have read things addressing a nobody, it didn't quite turn out to be so. But the Pooters were indeed a bunch of unremarkable folk, and it honestly did feel like I was reading some fool's diary.
I wonder if this book was considered to actually be funny to its contemporaries. I can see its playfulness, but it felt banal to me. I prefer the humor in Don Quixote to this, though they share similarities in folksiness and simple people. I was more embarrassed with the Pooters rather than sympathizing, than I was for Quixote and Sancho Panza.
I don't even really know what else to write. It definitely felt ahead of its time to be a whole volume without a plot, but it wasn't all that engaging. There does, obviously, need to be something driving the story. I suppose Lupin was supposed to be that in Diary, but he was a poor excuse for one.
And no, that is not a tub full of blood that the cover is depicting. That would have been much too exciting for this book.
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