In the last week, my reading has been:
The tail end of The Moment I First Believed by Wally Lamb, for the third time.
The Wonder Spot (Melissa Bank); no, it's not about sex.
James Frey's Bright Shiny Morning, and then A Million Little Pieces, because that was right underneath it on the bookpile (the one beside the front door. There's also one in the lounge threatening to engulf the couch, and another in the bedroom that mysteriously... grows. I have no idea how it happens, but it just does. I would purchase more bookshelves but we already have six (mostly double-layered) and I don't think our house can accommodate any more.)
Ummm.... then I wandered through a few chapters of Women who Run with the Wolves, Clarissa Pinkola Estes (is that not an UTTERLY fantastic name? Clarissa Pinkola. Seriously.) and Coraline, by Neil Gaiman; he has a special place in my brain. I read Good Omens as a stress response all through my VCE year, then the collected works of Jane Austen about twenty-nine times in my first year of uni.
Oh, and now I'm reading some piece of tripe called 31 Dream Street, by a random Lisa Jewell (That is SO a pseudonym).
So. What do I read now? I'm bored. Oh, and I'm a serious fan of Chuck Palahniuk. Weird, no?
2 weeks ago
4 comments:
I have a particular soft spot for 'Disgrace' by J M Coetzee. Trezza Azzopardi's 'The Hiding Place' is good too.
Mind you, I'm reading a Matthew Reilly and a Stephen King right now. Look at me trying to come across all highbrow. What a wanker. :)
We read what we feel like at the time. I always have at least ten possibilities by my bed but by the time I get there I fall in a heap and go to sleep...xv
Robertson Davies and Stephen Leacock. Funny and Canadian. Not something easily achieved.
OK. Thank you, I now have a Monday mission which may well broaden my horizons.
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