Graham Greene’s Quiet Fucking American, not so much lazy as drab, dreary, with an overcoat of nastiness and an undercurrent of cynicism that makes you want to tenderise your head against the nearest wall. I mean I know his subject matter is pretty depressing, but there are so many better and more likeable books about it. Bleurgh. (Avoidance of doubt this is only my opinion, know others swear by Greene)