Oh My Bjork.
I still remember this one. I wish I had forgotten it.
Well, I might have a very good reason for keeping the memories of '101 Reykjavik' alive.
You may say it's because of the post code, but you would be wrong. Actually I'm not planning to send any flattering paper letter to Hallgrìmur Helgason. And I am afraid that dispatching a wrapped package full of rotten tomatoes to him would cost me way too much via air mail. What a pity!
Perhaps I can recall this novel 6 or 7 years after having swallowed it because it stands around the top of many lists of mine.
Let's have a look at the rankings:
#1 The best book to give to your worst enemy.
#2 The biggest waste of paper I've ever read.
#1 The silliest plot ever written north of Copenhagen.
#5 The easiest object to toss in a recycling bin.
#3 The worst male character in a XXI century novel.
#2 The most unnecessary movie-adaptated book.
#4 The greatest relief ever felt in my life (after being done with it).
Ah, by the way: how does it end?
I am pretty sure I'm not giving any justice to "101 Rekyjavik" by not including this novel in the rankings of "the worst final ever".