What I've read since the last time
I slowed down in my reading come fall for three reasons.
One, that damn Norman Mailer tome, Harlot's Ghost, with its teeny weeny itsy bitsy print, making 1200 pages more like 2400 pages - and 1200 is freaking long enough.
Two, it took me like two weeks to catch up on everything I had sitting on the dvr when I got back from LA in November.
Three, dealing with The Girl Child's medical mystery dilemma for practically the entire month of December, which did not just command almost all our attention, but depressed the hell out of me as well - and I find it very difficult to concentrate on reading when I'm depressed.
Angelopolis, by Danielle Trussoni. The second in what I'm assuming is a trilogy in Trussoni's very original nephilim series that I'm riveted by.
Dark Provenance, by Michael David Anthony, was marketed as the third in the "Richard Harrison" Canterbury "Felony and Mayhem" series. But I found out on Amazon this book was actually intended to be the second book in the series. Makes sense because it definitely reads as playing out earlier than Midnight Come, which was marketed as the second book.
Harlot's Ghost, by Norman Mailer. The tome - the damn tome! My first Mailer, that I can recall. At times an interesting, at other times plodding, look into the CIA during the mid-late 20th century. Mostly the reason I finally read it is because it was one of the last few I had left from my going out of business stash from the now defunct Borders.
One For the Books, by Joe Queenan. Quite simply an essay about the love of books.
Oryx and Crake, by Margaret Atwood. Another leftover from my old Borders stash. A few months ago I read on twitter that Darren Aronofsky was developing Atwood's Maddaddam Trilogy for HBO, so I thought, damn, guess I'd better read at least one of the books before it shows up on tv. Then I ordered the other two books.
The Book of Life, by Deborah Harkness. The third book in the All Souls Trilogy. Not as strong a book as the first two. But at least it had a definitive ending.
A World Lit Only by Fire, by William Manchester.
The Year of the Flood, by Margaret Atwood. The second in the Maddaddam Trilogy.
Faceless Killers, by Henning Mankell. The first in the Kurt Wallander Swedish series of mysteries.
Dreamers of the Day, by Mary Doria Russell.
Death Comes to Pemberley, by P.D. James - RIP (*sniffle*). I'd looked at this book for a couple of years in the bookstore, and never picked it up until recently. Then shortly after I finally buy it, I see that PBS is starting to air Death Comes to Pemberley on Masterpiece Mystery. So I have to dvr the whole thing until I can read the book since I very recently bought it. And I knew if I watched the televised version, I probably wouldn't bother with the book.
Old School, by Tobias Wolff.
Maddaddam, by Margaret Atwood. Final installment of the Maddaddam Trilogy. I am officially ready for you, Aronosfky and HBO!
The Dogs of Riga, by Henning Mankell. The second in the Kurt Wallander series.
The Ocean at the End of the Lane, by Neil Gaiman. I bought this book for The Girl Child a couple years ago, and she sent it back to me to read on this last trip to San Francisco.
One, that damn Norman Mailer tome, Harlot's Ghost, with its teeny weeny itsy bitsy print, making 1200 pages more like 2400 pages - and 1200 is freaking long enough.
Two, it took me like two weeks to catch up on everything I had sitting on the dvr when I got back from LA in November.
Three, dealing with The Girl Child's medical mystery dilemma for practically the entire month of December, which did not just command almost all our attention, but depressed the hell out of me as well - and I find it very difficult to concentrate on reading when I'm depressed.
Angelopolis, by Danielle Trussoni. The second in what I'm assuming is a trilogy in Trussoni's very original nephilim series that I'm riveted by.
Dark Provenance, by Michael David Anthony, was marketed as the third in the "Richard Harrison" Canterbury "Felony and Mayhem" series. But I found out on Amazon this book was actually intended to be the second book in the series. Makes sense because it definitely reads as playing out earlier than Midnight Come, which was marketed as the second book.
Harlot's Ghost, by Norman Mailer. The tome - the damn tome! My first Mailer, that I can recall. At times an interesting, at other times plodding, look into the CIA during the mid-late 20th century. Mostly the reason I finally read it is because it was one of the last few I had left from my going out of business stash from the now defunct Borders.
One For the Books, by Joe Queenan. Quite simply an essay about the love of books.
Oryx and Crake, by Margaret Atwood. Another leftover from my old Borders stash. A few months ago I read on twitter that Darren Aronofsky was developing Atwood's Maddaddam Trilogy for HBO, so I thought, damn, guess I'd better read at least one of the books before it shows up on tv. Then I ordered the other two books.
The Book of Life, by Deborah Harkness. The third book in the All Souls Trilogy. Not as strong a book as the first two. But at least it had a definitive ending.
A World Lit Only by Fire, by William Manchester.
The Year of the Flood, by Margaret Atwood. The second in the Maddaddam Trilogy.
Faceless Killers, by Henning Mankell. The first in the Kurt Wallander Swedish series of mysteries.
Dreamers of the Day, by Mary Doria Russell.
Death Comes to Pemberley, by P.D. James - RIP (*sniffle*). I'd looked at this book for a couple of years in the bookstore, and never picked it up until recently. Then shortly after I finally buy it, I see that PBS is starting to air Death Comes to Pemberley on Masterpiece Mystery. So I have to dvr the whole thing until I can read the book since I very recently bought it. And I knew if I watched the televised version, I probably wouldn't bother with the book.
Old School, by Tobias Wolff.
Maddaddam, by Margaret Atwood. Final installment of the Maddaddam Trilogy. I am officially ready for you, Aronosfky and HBO!
The Dogs of Riga, by Henning Mankell. The second in the Kurt Wallander series.
The Ocean at the End of the Lane, by Neil Gaiman. I bought this book for The Girl Child a couple years ago, and she sent it back to me to read on this last trip to San Francisco.