Ok, before I run these books down to the used book store and maybe get some credit for them, these are some of the books I read in the last few months:
Finished Language of God last night. I thought it would be a difficult book, but it was exceedingly easy with a clear presentation of what Christians call salvation. I'll have to think some more about his argument about the truth of evolution. He said that scientists have discovered a way for the flagellum to come together bit by bit. I'm not so sure and I still have problems with dating and strata formation. Mt. St. Helens made lots of strata with trunk stubs in one week at Spirit Lake. Well, all in all, I thought it a great book with much to think about in it.
Adult Children Of Alcoholics: explains Clinton the liar.
Siege Perilous by Lester Del Rey: fun
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri: Fascinating at first and then grows tedious.
Icy Sparks: interesting throughout, but how do you pop out your eyes?
The Hollow by Agatha Christie: okay
Blasphemy by Douglas Preston: silly
Sticky Church: oops, haven't finished it yet, back to the to read piles
The Voice of the Night: Interesting. Ghastly
Passenger to Frankfurt: philosophical treatise disguised as a novel
The Seven Basic Plots: really long with lots of repetition. Cracked me up when Christopher Booker said that Jung and his discoveries were as important as those of Einstein and Newton. I scribbled Don't Think So in the margin. I was reading fast. He may have said that Jung was as important in psychology as Newton in physics. I still don't think so. The constant repetition reminded me once of a final I took at the University of Washington in a storytelling class. One question. I filled in two pages of the blue book. For some reason I had determined not to be the first one to turn in my answer. I waited. And waited. And waited. All around me, people were writing furiously. I read the question and my answer again. I had answered the question. What were all these people writing? I waited and they wrote. I waited and they wrote. I broke into a sweat. What nuance had they picked up that I missed? I studied the question forwards and backwards. I had answered it. By now, some people were filling in their second blue book. I absolutely could not see what to add to my answer. Finally someone else took up their bluebook and I quickly followed and left feeling defeated. My test result? A. I could rewrite Booker's massive tome as a pamphlet.
Shadow Fires by Dean Koontz: good writing which always surprises me in a thriller.
Jack's Life by Douglas Gresham: written for children. I liked it.
Labyrinth by Kate Mosse: eh. written better than anything by Brown
Cosmic Beginnings by Soyinka Ogunbusola: could not finish. Perhaps correct spelling and grammar are Western oppressions, but it was too painful to read in a book I had high hopes for.
Starfire by Stuart Vaugn Stockton: I don't know why it took me so long to get into it, but once I did, I found it delightful to see how a society made adaptions for such disparate sizes of people. Well done.
Letters to Sam by Daniel Gottlieb, given to me by a daughter-in-law who must have figured out that my love language is the giving of pertinent books! I wish that Dr. Gottlieb had thought to research the thinking of those on the autism spectrum before he wrote these letters to his grandson. I can guarantee that his grandson will understand only maybe one of them. He writes in a language my daughter-in-law uses and I don't. At age 57 I am finally beginning to understand that type of abstract word usage, but I'll never enjoy it.
The Parasite War by Tim Sullivan: okay
Dread Empire's Fall by Walter Jon Williams: good writing, as always, by Williams. Nothing to make you think after you finish the book.
Let's see, not in the sacks are the Tim Downs Bugman mystery and the latest Pratchett which became gifts. Oh, I need to set aside the Starfire and the sequel when it comes out for a nephew.
As I look over this list, I realize that I am not feeding my mind well. Need to do something about that.
In the meantime I am shutting down which is my response to Too Much To Do. It's better than a meltdown, but it means Frank has to take care of everything. I don't know how I'm going to clean up everything with a daughter and toddler theoretically living in the basement and I still don't know where to put everything. And the dogs keep picking my purse and throwing around hearing-aid batteries and lotion and the toddler throws everything on the floor for them to chew on. Oh whine whine whine. It's time to get up and clean Something.