On the kitchen table is "Letters to Georgian friends" by Boris Pasternak, that I plucked from my mum's spare room bookshelf in a moment of extreme esotericism. It is just a collection of letters to friends, mostly saying very little, often just sending greetings or discussing plans or work projects, but I have come to feel quite affectionate towards him as he is a devoted and caring man. I have been reading this over my breakfast for a couple of months.
The library came up with "The trouble with poetry and other poems" by Billy Collins which I have been dipping in to at bedtime. And also "You are not a stranger here" by Adam Haslett, a collection of short stories, picked out because of this interesting cover photo of an ornate spiral staircase, which I find can often be as good a reason as any other for borrowing a book.
"The voluptuous delights of peanut butter and jam" by Valerie Liebenberg is a wonderful book and I will probably finish it this week, so watch this space for a review.
And then this morning Brian (the postman) bought me Diana Athill's "Somewhere towards the end". I had requested this from the library last August, and when I asked the lady about it she suggested that perhaps it might have gone missing, so I gave up and bought a copy on the Amazon marketplace for 21p ... and it is practically new, seems to be unread. I started reading it when I opened the packet and am loving it already. It is a memoir, mostly about being old, and I think I am so going to like her, and will probably have to get her other books.
Then M and I are reading "Lost in a good book" by Jasper Fforde, which is just brilliant, but requires us both to be in the mood for reading. We are doing alternate chapters, and I rather like being read to, it is such a different process, and I love also the fact that we can discuss it was we go along and share all the jokes. His books really do defy genre definition and his sense of humour is both quirky and original.