I still have those books on my nightstand that feel like work to me. Brene Brown’s Daring Greatly and that biography of Dorothy Parker. When I haven’t committed to a new book I mope around the house looking for something to read. Family Circle. Better Homes and Gardens. Shut up. My brain needs a rest, too, and those mags are like Pinterest in print.
I accepted an offer for a review copy of a novel because the pitch was intriguing. It must have been the subject line, even, because I get so many pitches every day and I delete most of them. The book came in the mail last week, in the middle of an onslaught of gift packages, so I figured it was another present for under the tree. Instead it was a galley of The Boy by Lara Santoro. I picked it up yesterday, still loathe to really think while I read in bed, and I was pleasantly surprised. Santoro was a foreign news correspondent and her protagonist was, too, before she had a child. It’s interesting to see how parenthood puts a paper bag over the fascinating person you were before.
Last night I finished Bruce Sallan’s Empty Nest Road Trip Blues, which is an e-book, but since I don’t have an e-reader, I used my computer. There’s no good snuggling up in bed with a computer. Still, I enjoyed this book very much and I’ll be posting about it soon.
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