Finished off two Anne Tyler books this past week, The Clock Winder (which was strange in that way so many books about southern families are), and Saint Maybe, better than I thought it would be at the beginning. I"ve been ducking Anne Tyler books for years, I have no idea why; she writes well, everything fits together, but I just could not take down one of her books and read it. Maybe I had to grow up to them.
Started Gabriel Garcia Marquez' Love in the Time of Cholera, but it seems (or I do, at any rate) to be descending into a place where I have difficulty following, or comprehending. I understand the mindset of the South American culture is very different from ours, and that may be part of the problem. I'll soldier on a bit longer, this may just be a slow place in a good book.
Not all books are good, not all good books are good for the same reasons, or for the same people, and what one person raves about, someone else will hurl across the room, half finished.
One reason I hesitate to loan books or recommend them if somebody else has to spend money on an unknown quantity.
And a nice day, the ash trees are turning that bronze/purple color, and the rock maples in the front yard have started their color shift from top to bottom. Tis time, I believe.