[Side note: I'm not a slow reader by any means, but what is up with the To Read Next list getting longer instead of shorter? Has it always been this way? It wasn't until the kindle that I really noticed the numbers of it, since the collection in which the titles reside has a thoughtful tally to the right. So far this year I have read a dozen books, which makes this a pretty slow year for me, but the first quarter was taken up with A Dance With Dragons, the fifth tome of Martin's Song of Ice and Fire. And yes, I mean tome with all its various connotations; had it not been for the kindle, I would have been lugging the darned thing around, certainly giving myself back problems as I tried to find out what happens next in the thousand-plus pages of torture that is George R. R. Martin. (No, by the way. Nameria still hasn't shown up, let alone joined forces with Arya at any point. I've only been waiting since the end of the first book for that moment.) My Unread list tallies now at 23. I don't usually count such things, but gosh, that seems awfully unbalanced for this point in the year.]
Anyone who has known me for more than five minutes will know that I am a story junkie, so as relevant and poignant as a book or movie might be, if it doesn't keep me wanting to know what happens in the story, I start to yawn and then walk away. I know, I know: That's a pretty pedestrian attitude. But we all have our vices, and story is mine.
Today I started Nesbo's The Snowman.It comes highly recommended from a coworker, and is more of a serial killer thriller than a police procedural, though my friend says the detective is part and parcel of the story. I'm looking forward to delving in to something gritty, as it is time for that part of my mind and soul to stretch its legs a bit. Everything I've read so far this year has been polite, and while I am not opposed to that by any means, sometimes I just need the sandpaper-against-my-nailbed feel of a good thriller, and the idea of snow is attractive to me in a way that defies reason.
