John Crace is celebrating 10 years of his funny Digested Reads over at the Guardian. Coincidentally, I’m celebrating 10 years of being married to the deadly assassin Lady Ninja. It’s a good day.

Over the last 10 years, the Digested Read has changed locations several times – from the Editor to the main paper to G2 – but the format has remained the same; rewriting a book in 700 words in the style of the author. The primary goal is to entertain – something the book itself has often failed to do – but it’s also intended as a (semi-) serious critique, for much of the fun is derived from clunky plot devices that don’t work, pretentious stylistic tics, risible dialogue and an absence of big ideas. Literary criticism does not have to be dull to be serious.

Some people object to its cruelty. I have no defence. Satire often is cruel, especially when it’s accurate. Here’s the thing. I read every word of every book I digest, scribbling notes on the pages as I go along. I can’t afford not to because if I get something wrong, I’m stuffed. So you could argue that I show rather more respect for the integrity of an author’s work than a reviewer who gives a book the thumbs up after a skim read. And that does happen. I’ve read reviews of books I’ve ­digested and can see the critic has only read the blurb, the first few chapters and the ending. But who cares so long as it’s a positive review? Certainly not the author or the publisher. You might, though, if you fork out £10 to buy it.