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I finished reading The private lives of Pippa Lee by Rebecca Miller this morning before I went to school. It was quite good, and had some pretty nice quotes as well:

"Sometimes, she found the mystery of other people almost unbearable to contemplate: rooms within rooms inside each of them, an endless labyrinth of contradictory qualities, memories, desires, mirroring one another like an Escher drawing, baffling as a conundrum. Kinder to perceive people as they wished to be seen. After all, that's what Pippa wanted for herself: to be accepted as she seemed."

"She enjoyed this removal from her surroundings even as she was immersed in them. She felt mute and contented, loaded with potential, yet entirely unproductive."

"She kept teetering on the brink of love with him, and even spent blissful hours in the zone of extreme fondness. But all it took was one flabby joke, a botched allusion, a moment of strained sincerity, and she felt a leaden seal forming in her gut, cutting her off from the suddenly former object of her affection as swiftly as a pair of scissors severing two sausage links. Back to square one."

Today I picked up Margaret Atwood's The blind assassin at Waterstone's, so I'll probably read that.

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