Mary Oliver's book is a paragon of clear writing. Makes me want to write poetry but evidently not enough to practice every day. Perhaps it's time to change that.
The Golden Compass is such a terrific story, with such vivid and wild characters. I read it in about three days this time around (I've lost track of how many times I've read it since Dad first read them out loud to us 15+ years ago) and, even knowing just what's coming at each twist and turn, I could hardly put it down. A few times, reading in bed, I said, "Oh fuck yeah!" or variants thereof, aloud to myself.
Taking a break now to read The Blind Assassin, which is okay so far if a little slow. Debating whether to leave Subtle Knife and Amber Spyglass for the beach and start into The Warmth of Other Suns and then Between the World and Me after I'm done with Atwood.
The Golden Compass is such a terrific story, with such vivid and wild characters. I read it in about three days this time around (I've lost track of how many times I've read it since Dad first read them out loud to us 15+ years ago) and, even knowing just what's coming at each twist and turn, I could hardly put it down. A few times, reading in bed, I said, "Oh fuck yeah!" or variants thereof, aloud to myself.
Taking a break now to read The Blind Assassin, which is okay so far if a little slow. Debating whether to leave Subtle Knife and Amber Spyglass for the beach and start into The Warmth of Other Suns and then Between the World and Me after I'm done with Atwood.
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