2024: More than 16,000 pages in 49 novels

With a talent for losing myself in a novel accompanied by absolutely no capabilities for recalling the name of the author or title, I love using Goodreads to record those for me. The website also tidily bundles your reads up at the end of the year. This look back reminded me that the first book I completed this past year was also both the longest, with 736 pages, and among my favorites – The Bee Sting by Paul Murray.

Other books that that rang five-star for me for varying reasons were: Peace Like a River by Leif Unger; The Vaster Wilds by Lauren Groff; Same Bed Different Dreams by Ed Park; The House of Doors by Tan Twan Eng; Death and the Penguin by Andrey Kurkov; The Turtle House by Amanda Churchill; The Cemetery of Untold Stories by Julia Alvarez; Of Women and Salt by Gabriela Garcia; Anita de Monte Laughs Last by Xochitl Gonzalez; My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You I’m Sorry by Fredrik Backman; Hard by a Great Forest by Leo Vardiashvili; Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin; All the Colors of the Dark by Chris Whitaker; and Five-Star Stranger by Kat Tang.

Continue reading “2024: More than 16,000 pages in 49 novels”

Postcard from Lisboa, Portugal: Dreams of eternity etched in stone

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A bookworm’s dream. Bound for eternity with book in hand.

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Or perhaps a book in hand and an adoring dog at your feet.

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Doggie heaven. A fresh fowl ever ready everyday.

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Alas, the curse of a king. Forced to keep sword in hand and faithful hound ever vigilant until kingdom come.

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Or eternally wait for an answer from God.

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Or the poor saint who is given no rest. Her work on earth still in demand. Saint Justina, chastised for chastity and Catholicism. A recipe destined for martyrdom. Beheaded in the year 304, the rest of you unearthed and removed by papal politics some 1,500 years later for veneration by the faithful in Lisboa, far away from your Basilica in your native Padua and leaving the residents of Padua without the protection offered by the potent physical presence of their patroness.

I have no worries of being publicly preserved for prayers from the faithful. Sainthood passed me by at an early age.

But, if it’s at all possible to be buried with book in hand, please make it a well-loaded Kindle.

And, maybe, just let Howie rest in peace wherever he lies.