Lost Echoes by Joe R. Lansdale. Best line so far: “If it cost a nickel to shit, we’d have to throw up.” 
The Tarnished Chalice, by Susanna Gregory. This is one of a whole long series of mystery novels involving monks and Cambridge and the Middle Ages, and they have merged together to become one big book in my mind. At this point, I think I’m reading them out of habit.
My Life Next Door, by Huntley Fitzpatrick. This was quirky, it’s a YA romance set in the present day, with typical present day issues (sex, drugs, alcohol, etc) but the tone reads more like a Beany Malone book. I wouldn’t recommend it to everyone, but fans of Golden Era teen romance (Betty Cavanna, Rosamond du Jardin, Janet Lambert, etc) would probably get a kick out of it. Ultimately it’s very sweet.
I will get there eventually! I have number 2 and 3 waiting.
I finished reading Rod Stewart’s autobiog, which I liked a lot.
Then I read Neil Young’s Waging Heavy Peace which, ah, reads exactly like you’d expect Neil to write. And I mean that in a good way. It meanders like a Crazy Horse guitar solo, but it also packs an emotional punch like a Crazy Horse guitar solo.
So, now I’m reading I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead: The Dirty Life and Times of Warren Zevon. Which, so far, is very interesting. I’m a fan of his music, don’t know much about his life.
Why yes, I do read a lot of musician biogs. I’m a musician. I like to read about musicians, it can be inspiring.
They’re good and I’ve enjoyed them, but by about the 7th or 8th one, they started to seem very repetitious to me.
I find that happens in many long series, I suppose it gets exhausting to always have to think up a new puzzle.
I look forwrd to reading them though!
I spent a big chunk of 2012 reading <i>A Song Of Ice And Fire</i> and have been trying to come down from it ever since. Various people have suggested various things, none of which I’ve tried (bad me). I hoped James Bond or Regency romances would help, but they didn’t.
The delight of the first three GRRM books just can’t be replicated, I’m afraid.
I was in a similar place, I’m trying to remember what shored me up …
Scott Lynch’s Locke Lamora books
Amitav Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies books
Margo Lanagan
I finished Jon Krakauer’s “Under the Banner of Heaven.” It was good, but not as good as “Into Thin Air,” I didn’t think. I’ve started “Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children.”
I finished The Skystone, the first book in Jack Whyte’s Camulod Chronicles, which retell the story of King Arthur as realistic historical fiction. It was excellent. I’ve got a lot more reading to do with this series, the protagonist of this book was Arthur’s great-grandfather.
Now I’m on The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat by Oliver Sacks. It’s a fun and fascinating read.
Part of Martin’s genius is that he writes so well in different genres. Consider trying Tuf Voyaging, a sf novel about a phlegmatic starship captain and his offbeat adventures around the galaxy, or Fevre Dream, about vampires along the Mississippi before the Civil War. Both very different; both very, very good.
I picked up a book on a whim that I thought might be somewhat interesting. It’s broad comedy - almost farce. *Lunatics *by Dave Barry and Alan Zweibel.
It’s broad. It’s farcical. It’s also incredibly stupid. I’ve burned through about half the book over the course of a couple of days, but I don’t know if I can subject my brain to the rest of it.
Finished the first Jack Reacher novel Killing Floor. I was a good fun read, even if I did figure out a lot of it way before the end. I may read the others, but right now I have so many books in my queue I have no idea when…
(Put down the last Richard Castle novel because I realized a few pages in that I hadn’t read the installment before it.)
Being home in bed with the flu for a few days has few advantages, but I have gotten some reading done.
I finished Portnoy’s Complaint, early yesterday morning, then read Agatha Christie’s ***At Bertram’s Hotel. *** She wrote that one in 1965, and while the central mystery wasn’t one of Christie’s best, I enjoyed the book immensely, because it showed that neither Miss Marple nor Agatha Christie herself was blissfully unaware of how much England had changed.
Miss Marple is staying at a quaintly old-fashioned London hotel, one populated by the kind of stuffy, old-fashioned Brits who’d have populated a Christie novel from the 1920s. It’s the kind of place where they still have high tea, lace doilies, elaborate old-fashioned English breakfasts, and near-invisble, deferential servants. Miss Marple supposedly stayed at this hotel as a little girl, and looks forward to a stay there as a sort of nostalgia trip.
OBVIOUSLY, since this is a Christie mystery, it’s inevitable that dirty dealings are going on behind the scenes at Bertram’s… but even before any such dealings are revealed, it’s interesting to see how Miss Marple reacts to seeing such an old-fashioned hotel (the kind that American tourists imagine reflects the “real” England). Rather than taking comfort in it, Miss Marple finds it all a tad phony, and realizes that London (and England, and the world in general) has changed drastically in her lifetime, that it will continue to change, that it HAS to change, and that nostalgia ultimately isn’t healthy. For a change, Christie’s mystery is less than inspired, but she actually creates some interesting characters and shows some genuine human insight.
That was a fast read, and I’m now midway through Joseph Wambaugh’s The Choirboys.
Ohhhh that book traumatized me. I’m glad I read it but I’m not certain I can say I enjoyed it.
I just finished this, and wasn’t terribly impressed. Could have used a better proofreading, too - at one point, a Welsh character asks, “are you taking a piss?” instead of the vernacular “taking THE piss,” i.e., making a joke. It doesn’t have an ending, and I won’t seek out the sequel.
Just started Wolf Hall, so far so good. I’m also intrigued by your description of Redemption Falls, AuntiePam, so I might add that to the list. Maybe even start with the first one…
Every time I finish a really good book I’m halfway convinced that I’ll never again find anything worth reading.
I just finished reading Three in Norway by Two of Them, which is a humorous travelogue first published in 1882 and was the inspiration for Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat. If you liked that book you’d probably enjoy this one; it’s similarly hilarious in places. It’s about three British men who spend a summer hunting and fishing in Norway, traveling by donkey and canoe, camping in the wild, and living mostly off of what they shoot and catch. I’m not more than ordinarily interested in hunting and fishing, but I found this vastly entertaining.
I wasn’t terribly impressed, either. I felt like it had so much promise–I loved the weird old pictures and the idea of putting a story together with them–but in the end I thought it fell kind of flat. I won’t seek out the sequel, either.
I’m starting The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.
I finished The Hobbit last night, a hardcover with illustrations by Alan Lee. I enjoyed taking my time with it. I think I last read it when I was about 10 years old, and other than a few notable details (Gollum, the riddles, the barrels) I’d forgotten most of it. Now I can go see the movie.
Next I think I’ll read some more short stories to catch up with H.P. Podcraft. The’ve moved on to some other authors now. I’ll probably start with The Fall Of The House Of Usher - I read that as a kid too.
Finished The Closers, by Michael Connelly. Another worthy entry in the Harry Bosch series. Man, Connelly is really good.
It will be a couple of days before I can make it to the library and pick up some more Connelly, so in the meantime next up is Darkly Dreaming Dexter, by Jeff Lindsay. It’s the novel that the TV series Dexter is based on. From what I can tell just from the blurb on the book, it’s basically the first season of Dexter, but the wife has read it and tells me there’s enough extra in it to make it a worthwhile read.