Wednesday evening I was confronted with an internal uprising. (Which seems unfair, yanno? I've barely seen any *people* this last week, much less germ-bearing babies.) So the rest of Wednesday, in between rebel bombardments, was spent finishing that silly White Hart novel, the hero of which is flatly Too Dumb To Live. When you suggest that the unfriendly country that's holding you state prisoner/ hostage should burn you at the stake anyway so you can turn your people over to them when your people come to save you-- thinking of course that they'll actually rescue you and carry you off-- it looks just a tad dumb to say, to the executioner who's setting fire to the faggots, 'Hey! What're you doing?! Joudan ja nee zo!' Which last I always think of as 'You can't be serious!' even when the sense is, I assume different.
And yesterday I was either sleeping or feeling don'wanna or forcing myself to read The Years of Rice and Salt. There's a dearth of people in that book, which makes it a slog. No, I don't care that someone stumbled across Peru and someone else developed the vacuum tube. Thrilling Discovery!!! never thrilled me very much. The Zhang He section was so much better by me, because it /did/ have people.