The last book I flung across the room - it was The Masterpiece by Émile Zola. Why? Simply because I often read in the bath, and once I'm ready to get out of the bath I throw the book I'm reading far from the bath so I don't splash it as I get out. Consequently, I throw a great many books across the room, some I love, some I don't love, and some I hate!
But, if we're talking metaphorically (if not physically)... Women in Love is one, by D. H. Lawrence. I can hardly remember it now, other than thinking it was an utter waste of time. Where Angels Fear to Tread by E. M. Forster had the same treatment, though this flinging was inspired by frustration. Howards End is one of my favourite books (top twenty rather than top five), and when I finished A Room With a View and found it a bit tedious, I put it down to one of those things. Now, having disliked Where Angels Fear to Tread, I'm running out of hope a bit for E. M. Forster. Such is the reading life I suppose, although I did have very high hopes for him. I hate these bookish disappointments. I wonder if I'll ever have another Zola moment. That was quite a moment.... I love the urgency it brings - that desperate need to find everything an author has written, the beginning of amassing it all, the searches, the hunts through shops, the glee when a more obscure title pops up!
As for currently reading - I still haven't settled into anything! I think a read-a-thon might be in order this weekend. I would love the chance to spend a whole day reading. I'm considering making Parades End by Ford Madox Ford my September read, and it is very nearly September... Hard to believe by the end of the week it will be! Until then - no idea what I'll be reading tonight. Last night was very nearly The Iron Woman by Ted Hughes, but only because it was at hand when I wanted to smash a fly that had been annoying me for hours. The fly escaped me, and so did Hughes.