Yesterday was hard, as I mentioned. At 5pm I left work with the intention of going to the gym as usual. I pushed open the door to find it cold, pitch black, and pouring down rain. Fuck this. I drove...right past the gym and kept going until I was home, in bed, with a good book, a cat and a glass of wine. It was everything I'd hoped it would be, especially the book which I finished.
I know I wrote about The Thirteenth Tale a few weeks back and at that point I'd only just started but kids, let me tell you, I think it's the best book I've read this year. It is really just a perfect story with every element I love: England, stories within stories, suspense, Gothic intrigue, eccentric characters, books, books, and more books. It was written by a serious reader and that made me love it all the more. This passage is one of my favorites:
"Do you know the feeling when you start reading a new book before the membrane of the last one has had time to close behind you? You leave the previous book with ideas and themes–characters even–caught in the fibers of your clothes, and when you open the new book, they are still with you."
And that's what I'm dealing with right now. I'm still reading The Broken Teaglass but it's dragging a bit. I've also started The Magician and it has promise but The Thirteenth Tale is still with me, still tugging at my brain. I cannot wait to read it again.