Recently I was reading Night After Night, by one of my favorite authors, Phil Rickman, who wrote a couple of amazing horror novels back in the day, but who’s now probably best known for the Merrily Watkins series of (somewhat) paranormal mystery novels. This one is not a Merrily Watkins novel, but it is a—wait for it!—paranormal mystery. Of sorts.
Recently I upgraded my eReader to one with a larger screen and, like other eReaders I’ve owned, this one came with a selection of public domain works. In this case, one of the works was The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe, by some guy nobody has ever heard of.
This week I’m reading Where the Dead Walk, by John Bowen, in which the crew of one of those ubiquitous paranormal investigation shows unexpectedly runs up against the real thing. Hilarity does not ensue.
So this week I’m reading Old Man’s War, by John Scalzi, in which citizens of Earth and other planets are offered―in exchange for ten years of service in the
Space Force Colonial Defense Force (hereafter “ SF CDF”), which does interstellar battle against hostile aliens―a rejuvenation treatment which (allegedly) returns them to their days of youth and vigor. Because the SF CDF wants recruits with plenty of years of knowledge and experience, but doesn’t want to be on the hook for their Medicare payments, or something.
So this week I’m reading The Oddfits, by Tiffany Tsao, an odd little fable that reads kind of like you put Matilda, the good parts of Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children (I was not a fan), and The Hole Behind Midnight into a blender, and then hit puree. Oh, also, there’s ice cream.
This week I’m reading Death Warmed Over, by Kevin J. Anderson:
These days, I do nearly all my reading on an e-reader, currently an InkBook Obsidian, but I do on occasion return to the dead tree books of yore. Typically this will be because someone gave or loaned me said dead tree edition. Such was the case with Dune, which, being a door-stopper of a book, I eventually bought in e-form so I wouldn’t have to fight with it when reading at lunch; and such is the case with the Nero Wolfe books, which my father sent to me in a box a while back. I’ve read them all before, but now I’m reading them again, because who doesn’t like to spend some time visiting old friends? The one I’m currently into is Plot it Yourself, in which Wolfe goes up against a con artist with a fondness for pretending that popular novels are plagiarisms of his or her own work, and also for knives.