The night before last I finished Donna Tartt's The Secret History. It was a selection for the book club that some Otter friends started. Unfortunately, it was a selection from four years ago, and I just now got around to reading it, so I really don't have anyone to discuss it with. And that's a real shame; in many ways, the group of friends portrayed in the book reminds me of my college friends. Well, sort of. I don't recall many of my friends snorting coke, spending quite so much time drunk, or plotting a murder.
I found the book engrossing and suspenseful. I also had a mixed reaction to the characters; I don't recall many fictional characters from other books who evoked such a strong mix of attraction and revulsion.
So, in short, wonderfully written. My attention never flagged.
I feel like I'm on quite a roll, as I mentioned in a previous post. I've been reading more fiction than I have in years, and it's ranged in quality from very good to excellent. I can recall, a long time ago, when I used to read more, and occasionally I'd get a bum book. That was, of course, before the Internet provided me with easy and quick book reviews. It also helps that I've sort of save up books and recommendations for years.
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