Good Lord….time really does fly…when you’re having fun. Or when you’re reading mediocre fiction. Jeeze. Leme tell ya, I’ve just been through a stretch of stinkers recently. It’s not that they were bad, believe me outrageously bad is better than middle of the road mediocrity, it’s that these books didn’t leave any kind of impression on me at all. I’m sure that all editors and critics must get these streaks where everything that comes through their door is unremarkable for one reason or another. So here’s the list of “eh, I guess there were ok,” in no particular order:
Widdershins by Charles de Lint (that’ll teach me to revisit an author I liked when I was 13)
The Mistressclass by Michele Roberts (hooked by the title, I should have quit when the heavy references to Charlotte Bronte didn’t let up)
Big Stone Gap by Adriana Trigiani (Love me some cheesy southern fiction so this one’s my favorite. Plus it’s recommended by Whoopi Goldberg, not someone you see quoted on the backs of books much)
Must Love Dogs by Claire Cook (This one I knew wouldn’t be good. It’s mostly because I didn’t have any Netflix to watch and Fred was in San Francisco. I had to find something to fill up the hours.)
Thankfully that stretch is over. I’ve just finished A Place On Earth by Wendell Berry, a fantastic writer. Everything I’ve picked by him is always insightful, well crafted, and wonderful to read. He knows how to tell a story, and more importantly he knows the story he’s telling. Expect a full report for this weekend.
In the meantime I’m going to try and get this thing up and running again. Sorry for the extended holiday….but I’m out of the doldrums and living in the literary sunshine again.