Mourning

This is something that happens so rarely that I have to write it down for posterity (or blogsterity at least).

I've been reading Auster's Oracle Night at every opportunity since Sunday.

I read during my lunch break at work yesterday, instead of working through; I saw a movie (the cheesy but incredibly sexy and surprisingly entertaining Mr and Mrs Smith with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie) and had an evening work meeting sitting outside a pub; I returned home and resumed reading; I awoke this morning and began reading. But now I'm in mourning because I've just finished the book. What the hell am I going to read now that is as good?

One thing's for sure, ever since I realised I perhaps have only 552 books left to read in my lifetime, I shall start but discard any book that doesn't grip me obsessively within the first 20 pages.

I came to the 552 figure on the basis of my appalling 1-book-a-month habit. But if I refuse to struggle through duller books then I should be able to at least double that figure.