One peculiar habit I have, after each book is completed, is to notate the date of completion on the inside front cover, with one or two scribbled observations, and then place my initials next to that. I'm not entirely sure why I do it, but it's something that I've been doing for years.
So, Friday night, I finished A Swiftly Tilting Planet by Madeleine L'Engle. I've often mentioned my fascination with A Wrinkle in Time . This was the third in the series, and it was good, although hardly on the level of Wrinkle . It seemed somewhat inspired by that Ray Bradbury short story where a guy goes back in time and changes one really tiny little thing, and as a result, the whole word is different when he returns. The problem is one of narrative length: one of the essential elements in the book is Charles Wallace going "within" a host of characters, and living out their entire lives. But alas, with a juvenile audience, you need to tell the story of those individuals pretty darn quickly, meaning that you really don't get to know them at all, and therefore, the characters (many of whom carry on an ancient drama from generation to generation; many of whom have similar names) are not well drawn, and it becomes somewhat confusing to remember who is who. Plus, the ancient rune is invoked WAY to many times.
Now, moving on to Big Lies , by Joe Conason. It's a perfect way to get all fired up for the presidential elections. I still have REAL concerns about whether Kerry will be able to win, by the way.
My latest obsession is Bjork. I know, how retro, but I've been listening to Vespertine over and over, and find its collection of metallic noises and drones and hums to be oddly comforting when I'm going to bed at night. Medulla sounds fascinating, and I cant wait to get it into my hot little hands.