John Fowles, The Magus

John Fowles, The Magus. Just horrible. Another self-centered, privileged asshole is not narcissistic enough, so he goes to a Greek island where a sociopathic millionaire makes the entire world actually revolve around him. Really well written, but so full of nasty people I felt bile rising at the finish.

More light reading

Been reading some fun stuff between the cracks lately. E.L Konigsburg, The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place. A cute story about a girl's relationship with her elderly uncles and the giant scrap metal towers they built in their back yard. George R.R. Martin, Tuf Voyaging. A portly cat loving intergalactic trader acquires god-like powers. Daniel Pinkwater, The Afterlife Diet. Heaven for chubby people and diet book scams.

Jennifer Egan, Look at Me

Jennifer Egan, Look at Me. I don't have much patience for meditations on the meaning of self in the digital age, and the central conceit of the faceless model didn't convince me. But the language is lovely, and the whole book is rich enough to hold even with a weak thread or two.  I loved some of the themes, particularly the vanished industrial America still  present at the liminal intersections.  Much of the story was set in Rockford, IL, a town I know well, and where this past country still lurches on, decaying and undead, looming over the present.

John Scalzi, Redshirts

John Scalzi, Redshirts. Wouldn't those poor crew members on the Enterprise figure out something was up?