Blues would be an improvement.
I’m more pissed off than depressed actually. A kind of seemingly permanent desire to tell everything & everyone to fuck off.
Suppose it’s a variant on the usual black bird hanging around my neck.
But see! I have read two great fat Dickensian novels already this year! Loved them both. The Luminaries got pretty self-indulgent toward the end (let’s wrap this up with In Which …) and I swear the minute I put it down I couldn’t have told you the provenance of the gold. But I remember the name of the mine–Aurora. And the small, yet significant, thread of magical realism was interesting and an indication to me of just how much a writer can get away with if they have a literary reputation.
The Goldfinch was also riveting and diverting–hard to read at times. Echoes of Holden Cauldfield and pitch perfect New York City. Also got self-indulgent in places, especially right at the end. But most of it was just wonderful.
Strange, adding the two covers, I see how much they are alike. Wonder if they were designed by the same person.
2014 Reading List:
6. Moonkind, Sarah Prineas
5. The Goldfinch, Donna Tart
4. The Golden Day, Ursala Dubosarsky
2-3. The Haunted Hotel, The Queen of Hearts, Wilkie Collins
1. The Luminaries, Eleanor Catton