At first glance, sensitive post-colonial literature and Britney Spears appear to have little that connects them. And, really, even an additional glance might not help you spot this correlation.

Because, as you know, Ms Spears is in the habit of forgetting to put on her Smalls of a morning. Thereby dazzling one with glimpses of her freshly mown pudenda and obscuring the bond that unites said and, um, The Blind Assassin.

However, today’s headlines establish at least a temporal connection between Louisiana’s louchest and, yes, The Man Booker Prize.

On the very day mandarins formally announced supermum’s Vegas Comeback Special at Sunday night’s MTV Awards, the (shorter than average) Man Booker long list was culled.

So, if, like your authoress, you’re an incorrigible wanker who continues to hope that a sterling book collection will get you laid, here is what you must immediately purchase.

THE SHORTLIST:

  • Animal’s People by Indra Sinha. The touching, lyrical story of a diseased beggar.
  • Darkmans by Nicola Barker. The touching, lyrical story of people having diseased s-x in the verdant Home County of Kent.
  • The Gathering by Anne Enright. The touching lyrical story of ANOTHER quirky Irish family. Sheesh.
  • Mister Pip by Lloyd Jones. I dunno. Apparently he’s from New Zealand.
  • On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan. Greedy ungrateful bastard. He’s already won one AND he reckons the Booker is a crock.
  • The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid. The touching story of stump dumb racist Americans.

Although, it is very short. And that’s good because you can now more legitimately and easily say, “Yah, I spent last weekend reading the new McEwan.”

Although she is yet to write a novel, mother and part-time magical realist Spears will perform for the first time in three years on Sunday.

“Think of this as my musical Roman à Clef,” she might have said to press had she not been occupied screaming, “Shut UP, Mommy is having her BRAZILIAN” to several of her seventeen children.

Anyhoo, the song is called Gimme More and if, like your authoress, you’re an incorrigible wanker who continues to hope that a knowledge of pop music will get you laid, it can be picked up anyplace on the interwebs.

It sort of sounds like The Human League mildly distracted by a dose of non therapeutic Ritalin while on holiday in Florida.

And, actually, it’s not too bad.

It’s the touching story of a diseased beggar headed toward Redemption.

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Peter Fray
Peter Fray
Editor-in-chief of Crikey
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