Not Really Worth the Delay

I finally finished Smiley's A Thousand Acres last night, and like the Pagels book I finished two nights ago, it... wasn't really worth it. King Lear just does not work as a novel. It... writhes against the novel form. It doesn't mesh, it loses all its power and none of its depression. So that was disappointing.

I am, however, cutting down on my list of "books I'm in the middle of," which is nice. If I can get it down to five (only four more to go) I will be GOLDEN. I don't think I'll ever get it down to fewer than three (one always should have a fiction, a non-fiction, and a trash) but between three and five seems a laudable goal.

Speaking of books, I was talking to my boss last night about various and sundry book crushes I've had over the course of my life, starting with Odysseus when I was about eight, all the way up through Lord Peter Wimsey, last month. I'm going to do a short piece of writing on the subject sometime in the next week or two, once I get my thoughts more organized. I'll post it here when I finish. It should help distract me from my three-month performance review, which will be on Friday. Gulp.