If I were to tell you about books today, here's what you would absolutely need to know:
1. It's summer, so I am reading an Alice Hoffman novel called The Third Angel. Some authors write characters you come to feel close to -- people you feel like you are actually getting to know. Others describe characters so steeped in mystery, so ultimately distant, you are only an observer. Hoffman happens to fall into the second category, and so the stories she weaves are fascinating and otherworldly, but nonetheless addictive. Here's a review.
2. Speaking of reviews, you have to read Michael Hingston's piece on Elliot Allagash here. He manages to bring the word "analogue" and a comparison of F. Scott Fitzgerald to the paper.
3. Also on reviews, Jennifer Weiner has another book out this summer. Which ushers in the necessary, well, whining about how serious book reviewers don't take chick lit seriously. What I think might be more interesting about this blog post, though, is the question about how much is too much self-promotion via Twitter and Facebook and social media. Is it gross that I think this is kind of a major dilemma for writers?
4. I managed to pack three boxes of books last night! Yeah, baby, I'm going to fight so hard to ensure packing up my life by mid-August is not a total freaking nightmare....
But to be totally honest, I did not start this blog post because I wanted to talk about books.
I started this particular post because I wanted to discuss how much I continue to love Ewan McGregor after all these years. Sigh.