I’ve been a bit slack on the reviews front lately. I always try not to post about not posting, because it’s not what any readers signed up for, but, well, I never listen to my own advice. In the lead up to the ridiculousness that is Christmas in retail, I’ve been trying to read a little more broadly so that when customers come up and say, “What would you recommend for my aunt?” and refuses to listen when I take them excitedly to the wall of crime books, I’ve got some other advice. (This includes reading kids’ books, because I don’t think the new Robert Galbraith is really what I should be recommending for the under-8 market.) (Incidentally, one of my colleagues thinks The Vale Girl, by Nelika McDonald, is an excellent YA crime book, and I’m going to try and track it down.) Anyway, this all means my crime reading is a little thin on the ground at the moment, even though I have that enormous tower of crime in my house. You know the one. I originally said I’d only keep crime to this one bookshelf in the hall, but now it’s taken over the entirety of underneath the coffee table, a considerable space that was meant to be used for other things. But reading is more important. The new Sulari Gentill is more important. And the Aoife Clifford. And the aforementioned Galbraith, though, to be honest, I think she could do with a sound editing, and I’ve been putting it off. I also tried to read Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life, so I could offer a contribution from the Booker list, but jeez, have you seen the size of that thing? One of my friends declared it too “sappy”, and everyone else seemed quite traumatised, so I gave up. I never used to be a quitter, but between reading and other reviews and working and parenting (including the recent line, “I want a different mummy!”, so this job may soon be vacated apparently) and writing something new at a frantic pace, I am finding time this impossible thing to come by. I know, I know, everyone has to time-manage. This is one of the first times reading has become lower down on the list, but I’m trying to make writing a higher priority so that I can become ridiculously rich and spend all of my time reading books in a floating recliner on my giant pool filled with swans. Because if I’m going to have unrealistic expectations, I may as well take them all the way.
Here’s to some time on our collective horizons – all the better to read with.