Tim Lott - The scent of dried roses
More than OK, less than good. Average, I guess. Liked his descriptions of his parent's childhood in pre-war (and then post-war) Britain, but when he was writing about himself, I just didn't care much for it anymore.
Joyce Carol Oates - A fair maiden
In a way, if you have read one Oates book, you've read them all. Her story is always young, innocent girl who meets older man, and either she is the one conning him or it's the other way around (the moral is always: no one is innocent). There is always sex, there is always a sense that Oates doesn't actually like girls very much, and after Blonde, there is always a sense that Oates simply wishes she could go back in time and write it again. Just like I wish I could go back in time and read it again, because it really is so very good. Anyway, having said all that: I did like it, because I knew what I was in for. I have to say though, since Oates declared herself an antifeminist, I feel like maybe our love story is over.
Now I'm re-reading Curtis Sittenfeld's The man of my dreams. I found myself not being able to decide what to read, and it has been ages since I read anything by Sittenfeld. There is a stillness to her writing that is so wonderful. Will never stop loving her, despite the fact that the covers to her books are so awful, I'm actually embarrassed to pull the book out of my bag on the underground. However, maybe she wants one to be taken by surprise by the story inside? "Don't judge a book by its cover?" How involved are authors in these decisions?
