![]() ![]() So I picked up my Kindle, and started reading Pines, the first book in a sci-fi/fantasy/horror/mystery trilogy by Blake Crouch. Truly, I think I’ve read more descriptions of rainfall in 2015 than in any year prior. All coupled with detailed descriptions of the glorious weather the Irish are known for. I’ll go back to it soon, but I needed something a bit less heavy than the story of a forty-year-old woman coping with the death of her husband and having to raise their four children on her own. I got four percent of the way through it (another Kindle book), and decided I just couldn’t do it. I started Colm Tóibín’s lovely Nora Webster on Sunday, shortly after finishing The Temporary Gentleman and writing the bulk of my blog post about it. So apparently this is what happens when I try to read two contemporary Irish fiction novels written by authors who have been Booker Prize contenders in a row: I get so depressed that the only thing left to do is read the book that is currently number one on the Amazon best seller lists for sci-fi, fantasy, and supernatural books. ![]()
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