Started Sorceror to the Crown but also As I Lay Dying (there's nothing like a reading challenge and innate perversity to make me want to read dead white male authors I was never interested in before) as well as Saga and Myth in Ancient Ireland, a slender pamphlet from 1955 already out of date when reprinted in 1972. Both were haled up from the basement this afternoon and fall into the category of 'may eventually read this in my old age.' That would appear to be now. (Faulkner is my mother's book, with her name written in pencil on the flyleaf, having crossed out the name of the previous owner who was her best friend's husband.)
I may have won 14 million in last night's lottery, or one of the 14 1-million dollar prizes, but it's too cold to put on boots and find out.
