Fazendo uma pausa nos clássicos, escolhi aquele que, segundo ratings no Goodreads, parece ser o pior dos livros do Nick Hornby. Não foi este o motivo da escolha; acho que foi o amarelo que me chamou a atenção (se bem que por essa lógica teria escolhido um da Penguin):
Não acontece muita coisa neste livro. Mulher está farta do marido, arranja não sabe bem como um amante, quer um divórcio, marido muda de atitude e tenta ser boa pessoa e non-judgemental e tenta obrigar os vizinhos a adoptar miúdos sem-abrigo, pondera convencer pessoas a doar todo o dinheiro que ganhem que fique acima do salário mínimo. Tudo isto por ser melhor amigo de um curandeiro pseudo-hippie que se chama DJ GOODNEWS. Pior nome de sempre? Sim.
Apesar de ter preferido o About a Boy e o High Fidelity (os únicos outros livros do Nick Hornby que li), este tem partes com piada. Por exemplo:
‘I try to survive without things that not everybody has,’ says GoodNews. ‘I’m not joining in until everyone’s got everything. When, like, the last peasant in the Brazilian rainforest has a dishwasher, or a, you know, like, a cappuccino maker, or one of those TVs that’s the size of a house, then count me in, yeah? But until then, I’m making a stand.’
‘That’s very noble of you,’ I say. Nutter, I think, with an enormous sense of relief. There is, after all, nothing to learn from this person, no way he can make me feel small or wrong or ignoble or self-indulgent: he is simply a crank, and I can ignore him with impunity.
‘Everybody in the world’s got a dishwasher,’ Molly says, clearly puzzled, and all the times I feel I have failed as a mother are as nothing compared to this one, humiliating moment.
‘That’s not true, Molly,’ I say quickly and sharply. ‘And you know it.’
‘Who hasn’t, then?’ She’s not being cheeky. She just can’t think of anyone.
‘Don’t be silly,’ I say, but I’m just buying myself time while I dredge up someone in her universe who does their own washing-up. ‘What about Danny and Charlotte?’ Danny and Charlotte go to Molly’s school and live in a council flat down the road, and even as I speak I realize I am guilty of the most ludicrous form of class stereotyping.
‘They’ve got everything,’ says Molly.
‘They’ve got DVD and OnDigital,’ says Tom.
‘OK, OK. What about the children Daddy gave Tom’s computer to?’
‘They don’t count,’ says Molly. ‘They’ve got nothing. They haven’t even got homes. And I don’t know any of them. I wouldn’t want to know them, thank you very much, because they sound a bit too rough for my liking. Even though I feel sorry for them and I’m happy they’ve got Tom’s computer.’
This is my daughter?