Everyone's flight to DW doesn't affect my LJ reading much, but oh will it put a crimp in my reading of other people's FLs, which is one of the joys of my life. Reading other people's DW circles isn't the same, mostly because the fonts and layouts are so uncongenial, and always have been.
Howl's Moving Castle and The Green Man: Tales of the Mythic Forest anthology. Datlow and Widling solicit pretty good stories but none that really knock my socks off. None of the forests presented were *my* idea of a mythic forest, possibly because the only English writer is Tanith Lee, who never does the expected, and the other two Brits (Bill Lewis and Gaiman) submitted poems.
Beside the perennials, Lyndsay Faye's The Whole Art of Detection: Lost Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes. Fresh from the library purchase and I the first reader of this copy, go me. The voice is very good, and even if she falls into writing habits I deplore ('Watson practised medicine in San Francisco so I can set a story in my home town') or uses terms I'm dubious about (did governesses look after infants? Surely that's Nurse or Nanny?), it's a fun read so far.
Ah, who knows what I'll be in the mood for? The trouble with clearing bookshelves is that the bookshelves are then clear, leading to a feeling that The End Is Nigh. Unread books present hope and possibility; their disappearance marks the end of same.