April 26th, 2016


(no subject)

As I was riding up tonyish Huron St with its Edwardian behemoths that sell for a million and change, I discovered a Wee Free Library box. Wondering what the Annex provides in the way of cast-off reading, I investigated. Indeed, the books, though few, were a cut above what wanders into the WeeFree across the street. No 1960s physics textbooks or Doonesbury compilations here. (Even so, our WeeFree is better than the three or four others I randomly stop at, in that we rarely descend to chicklit or self-help.) No, Huron St (tonier than St George to the east but not nearly as tony as Madison to the west) has hardcovers by solid authors- no Oprah's picks or Heather's recs. With a ertain amount of foreboding I took out Anthony Burgess' A Dead Man in Deptford, which is about Christopher Marlowe. The language doesn't seem as asinine as Nothing Like the Sun, so I may hope.

(Googling about turns up this masterlist of historical novels, and poking about discovers there's a series of sequels to The Three Musketeers. But I poked further and lost the reference. Googling "musketeers sequel" or variations thereof gets me nowhere.)