Finished?
An Ian Rankin thriller, one of three he wrote. Mindless fun and no sodden coppers chasing Edinburgh gangsters, thank god.
And now?
The Dark Archive, large chunks of which I'd either forgotten or weren't there fist pass through.
Next?
Pursuit of the Millennium is going nowhere. I want a big thick book, default reading, and am oh so strongly tempted to see if I can still read Ulysses. I had no trouble with it in my twenties but that was before the net did its thing to my brain, and everyone says it's unreadable, and god knows I couldn't get anywhere with Flann O'Brian because who cares about his wittering Irishmen? Joyce may much much more of the same, and life is short...
