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Sometimes I just can't find the right book to read. Nothing holds my interest. I pick them up, flick the pages and think "Nah". It drives me crazy and I drive people in bookshops crazy because they see me between the shelves, standing on one leg and then the other, chewing my nails, screwing up my face and they ask me "Can I help you?"...and I say something silly like, "Oh, I'm just looking for something good to read". Anyway - now is not one of those times - I'm in the middle of finding about 15 books really, really interesting and in a perfect world I'd take a four weeks off work and hire a beach house and just read and walk. Can't complain - the upside of communting into town each day means I get two cosy hours on the train.
Reading
this made me feel a bit better. I've never been that bad.
So right now, this is what I can't wait to either continue with, start or finish:
Florence Broadhurst by Helen O'Neill
Bleak House by Charles Dickens
The Ruins by Scott Smith
Voices From Slavery ed Norman Yetman
Emil and Karl by Yankev Glatshteyn