Nothing to read

After receiving a copy for Christmas from my mother-in-law some four years ago, I'm plodding through Kit's Law, by Donna Morrissey.

I heard her in interview sometime during the last year and was charmed and inspired to get round to giving her novel a go. The pile of unread books on my shelf is fast diminishing, so what better time?

Well, it's life and death and joy and misery in an isolated community. Not my cup of tea. I'm on page 109, and I'll finish this book if it kills me (it might). (Why do I feel compelled to finish books I don't like? Then there's Ulysses, which I started to read 13 years ago. I refuse to "file it" in the bookcase — it continues to sit on my bedside shelf even now, in the 7th bedroom I've inhabited since I started it.)

But I need a good book to read! Soon! Before my brain withers.

To be fair, over the last two weeks I've read bits and pieces from magazines I've hoarded over the last year. Nothing significant. And there's the chapter I edited on craniosynostosis (yuk).

Time to plan an expedition through the big-box bookstore bargain bin.