Have finished Oyeyemi's The Opposite House. It felt like much of my time in Japan: placid, beautiful, but with no over-arching narrative or conclusion to be drawn. Which is not to say there *is* no narrative or conclusion to The Opposite House, just that I don't know what it is. Nor do I mind. Beautiful writing, intriguing characters, Jade Emperors mixing themselves up in human affairs-- err well Yoruba orishas doing that, maybe; and for once it doesn't matter that I really don't know what's going on.
Fought the temptation to wander down to Lil Smith (which on foot is a bit of a wander) and get her next, White is for Witching, whose narrator, I'm told, is a house. My kind of book. But my reading exercise for the foreseeable future is going to be 'that stack of books on the kitchen table' so began My Name Is Red instead, the current alternative to the progressively more horrifying London Falling.