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In the last week or so, and following on from a quick burst of Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain - bitchiness, cooking and a fuckload of drugs - I finished reading Wilkie Collins' The Woman In White, which was pretty good, up until about the last third. Then, it started to just go downhill, becoming "I've read x-hundred pages already, so I'll finish, goddamnit"-style reading. But still quite enjoyable in places, though the ending's amazingly well-flagged about halfway-through.
Following that, I read Tibor Fischer's The Collector Collector, which was rather well-written, but seemed to be lacking a reasonable framework. It started out really well, but then seemed to lack an idea of where to go, and devolved, largely, to a series of rather cool vignettes sticky-taped together. For some reason, the way the pot spoke kinda reminded me of you, Haus.
I'll soon be able to add MIchael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay to this list, but it's really one of those books that you don't want to end... |
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