Stuck

I've been in a serious reading rut lately. I haven't even been able to get myself to write a review of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, which is one of the best books I've read in a long time--oh yeah, and I finished it over a month ago.

I spent a few weeks slogging through The Alchemist, but the transparent life messages have been a little too much for me to handle right now. I'm sure The Alchemist doubles as a self-help book for a lot of people trying to figure out what they want to do with their lives, but reading it just made me nervous.

So finally, a few nights ago in a surrender to bad fiction, I picked up a Sookie Stackhouse novel and was propelled through the pages in the way that only truly terrible writing can move you. Reading one of those books is like eating a pint of Ben and Jerry's; you're humiliated and know that it wasn't good for you, but you can't stop yourself.

I'm hoping that I start caring about real books again once this one is done.