I think the heat is probably making me cranky, so perhaps I was less patient with this book than I should have been. But I'm wary of just writing my dislike off to the fact that I am So Sweaty, because I clearly remember reading Jitterbug Perfume, and it was the same thing. In the case of JP, I giggled myself into a frenzy for about the first two thirds of the book, then suddenly realized I was tremendously bored, put it down, and never finished. I never do that, I'm a consummate book-finisher, so this stuck in my mind.
I did finish Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, but it was with a fair bit of grumbling and swearing. For about the first half it was pretty good, there were giggles to be had and intriguing images to be lost in. But then, splat. Two hundred pages of alternating mediocre erotica and mediocre philosophy, all wrapped in overdone self-conscious word games. And the history of whooping cranes in America. By the time the story kicked back in near the end, I was totally disenamored of both the characters and the plot, and found no satisfaction in a resolution that I probably would have quite enjoyed if it had happened a hundred and fifty pages sooner.
Next up, this "Chuck Palahniuk" character. He better watch out though, because until the thunderstorms start I am not on speaking terms with writing that doesn't make me forget I'm in the guldurned sauna here.