Actually, I couldn't stomach more than the odd page or two. Magnificent Octopus (What I've been reading) reflects on the problem of bad books recommended by good friends: "That Mimi Smartypants is loving Percival Everett's Glyph, a book I abhorred, is driving me fucking insane." However, that's normal. Sometimes bad books and movies can sneak up and captivate the most discerning among us. Glyph is a twee first-person account of a small child who can read and write but will not speak. There are lots of comical learned footnotes, section headings such as "Ephexis", "Pharmakon", etc. I've often heard that humour can be a form of hostility, but when people keep on making unfunny jokes, it must mean they're really out to harm you. Maybe even kill you. It can be very painful and frightening.

The NY Times called Glyph a "romp". So there you are.