I’ve been inhaling books lately, it seems. A lot of that has to do with the insomnia thing. In the past two weeks I’ve read The Wyrd of Willowmere by Alison Baird (that was pretty much overnight), Septimus Heap: Magyk by Angie Sage (the basic story is fine, but it has the irritating idiosyncracy of capitalising spell names and setting them in boldface, argh), An Instance of the Fingerpost by Iain Pears (which was far and away better than A Dream of Scipio, probably due to the separation of narratives instead of interweaving them the way Scipio did), Four Seasons of Mojo by Stephanie Bird, Locked Rooms by Laurie R. King (also pretty much overnight, and Mousme was right, poor Russell), reread Travels With My Cello by Julian Lloyd Webber, and tore through The Serpent on the Crown by Elizabeth Peters (also pretty much overnight).

The result of this binge is that my stack of books to read has been brutally decimated. I’m down to a YA book that I put down half-read a couple of months ago (yawn) and a Dave Duncan book Ceri lent to me a while back. But there’s a new Jim Butcher out in paperback that I can pick up this week (Harry Dresden, yay!), and I should have a couple of non-fic research books arriving soon as well.