This is the kind of book I wouldn’t want to be seen holding publicly. There! I admit it. I’m sort of a snob when it comes literature. But at the same time, I have also stepped out of ‘snob territory’ to experiment with these kind of books.

My Friend Sancho is an entertaining read. The book is written in a very informal narrative, trying to awkwardly juggle between moments of grief and humour, yet never really going deep enough. After you’ve laughed your way through the pages, you realize that the whole book was a bit like listening to someone ramble on, punctuating their monologue with plenty of mirth inducing sarcasm.