Atrocities Archived:

Big news in the GT world this week - I have confirmed visually and verbally that Kate (aka, my esteemed opponent) is still alive and reading; I was beginning to wonder.  She did make some vague threats about her page count, but I couldn't hear her all that well because she was running out the door carrying something that looked suspiciously like a paddle and using words like "Gnarly Hole", "Class 4", and "Kayak".  I really have no idea what she's doing, but apparently there are rivers involved. 

I also cleared the 10,000 page mark.  No autographs, please, but I am available for speaking engagements.

Current emotional state vector: Collapsed, but moving slowly toward Nova.

The Books:

The Reader, Bernard Schlink, 218p.  Literally less than a dollar at McKay's, took about an hour to finish.  One of those few novels that can be terse and terrific; can't wait to cook a fierce dinner and watch the movie with a friend. 

World's Fair, E.L.Doctorow, 288p.  So I think I'm reaching my limit with 'coming of age' stories - I've read too many phenomenal ones and too many craptastic ones to expect anything new (Read Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys now, as if your life depends on it!), so I had to treat Doctorow's take as a series of vignettes in order to enjoy the book... but it was as great as the blurbs claim.  My biggest complaint is that I'm sick of the obligatory New York Novel: other cities do exist, and New York isn't all that interesting as a literary device.  Emperor's Children did it well, most others don't pull it off.

The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand, 704p.  Disclaimer: I probably should write about how I really despised every person I met who touted Rand as this philosophical/political genius, how Objectivism makes me want to head-butt kittens, how her nonfiction writing is both arrogant and immature... but it's simpler to say that Roark appeals to how I've always ached for a singular point of focus despite his total lack of compassion (which, sadly, is something that's a teeny bit important to me) and I really enjoyed the plot.  I will say that the rape scene is unconscionable, period.  I'd like to have seen sexual assault victims get free neck-punches on Ms. Rand, for life.

Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins, 400p.  Holy crap, fantastic. 

The Jennifer Morgue, 397p.  Witty little break from the last two weeks' more serious novels.  Lots of fun and I ought to have read the prequel first.  I'm impressed with Mr. Stross' ability to genre-jump like a methed-up kangaroo, and I'm really looking forward to plunging back into the sequel to Singularity Sky, Iron Sunrise.  Another random find from McKay's in Chattanooga, my home away from home.

WEEK 12 TOTAL: 10,165 PAGES

 

Memories Worse Than Bullets:

Due to Unexpected Major Life Events, you'll notice three differences in this week's entry:

1.  Last week's entry is mysteriously absent and will remain so.  Much like my long-term relationship.

2.  The book reviews are going to be abrupt and lacking detail.  Much like the end of the aforementioned long-term relationship.

3.  You're going to get a peek into my personal life as I detail my near-frenzy level of activity over the past three weeks and justify my merely mortal page count.  I'd really hoped to break 10,000 pages by now, but shit happens.

So, in no particular order, a list of things that have taken priority over reading since February 16th: packing half my house into a storage unit and my Jeep, moved my entire life from Western North Carolina to Eastern Tennessee, bought a Kindle, run many miles, applied to strange and interesting jobs in exotic locales, re-certified my first responder qualifications, run many miles, listened to Adele, decided that was a bad idea, listened to Lana Del Rey which was a Good Idea, let my dog Harper sleep in the bed for once, driven All Over the Entire Southeast, drove to Charleston in particular, laughed until I hurt, got sick, got over it, lifted several heavy things in repetition, spent time with my family, gotten a migraine, signed up for a race, replaced my luggage, talked to long-lost friends, watched a shocking amount of Mad Men and Portlandia, listened to Wild Flag until I memorized the album, had an existential crisis in Athens, Georgia.  Oh, and tweeted some.

Since I'm working this whole 'post-breakup humor' thing to the bone, here are my favorite one-liners from the past three weeks:

1. "Clearly this means you should be a priest, since you don't want kids and you're crap at relationships."

2. "Does it count as vacation if I can't go home afterward?"

Ahem.  The books:

A Long Shadow, Charles Todd, 368p.  Consistent, interesting, excellent.  Strangely cathartic.
Good People, Marcus Sakey, 336p.  I don't understand 'crime' novels.  It's like a mystery except you already know what's gone down. 
The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins, 384p.  Holy crap, I'm hooked.  Got my Ender's Game fix all lined up, thank you.
Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins, 400p.  Is it too soon to get a movie ticket?  Also: unfair to cast Jennifer Lawrence in the lead - she is all kinds of appealing. 

WEEK TEN TOTAL: 8158 PAGES!