Langston Hughes, The Tiger and the Lash. A slim volume of poetry which informs me that Hughes was writing into the 60s when I associate him with the Harlem Renaissance of thirty years earlier.
Everything else. Halfway through The Courtier, to the point where various people are saying there's no reason to describe the ideal court lady, let's go on talking about the ideal courtier, and Lorenzo's son is saying No but really, and goes on talking about women, bless him. (Giuliano looks to have had the Medici underbite, but fashion being what it was, got to hide it with a beard. Do not believe Michelangelo's version of him. He lied.)
Not so far with Shadow of Night, which is still witches and vampires and no Shakespeare in sight. One story into Stories Old and New; no further with Kafka or PMT. Maybe on the long weekend.
All the above- groan- when what I want is something light and frivolous.