On my beside table

The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. One of the reviews states: "At least as heartbreaking as it is hilarious." Leo Gursky, the man who keeps his manuscript in a box in the oven, who gives himself a sponge bath after long, unproductive trips to the toilet, who fled Poland, is making me laugh, and I can only imagine I'll cry in the remaining chapters.

On loan

It's December. The year is almost over so I am trying to get in a few substantial and meaningful reads before the New Year. I borrowed John Steinbeck's The Red Pony from the library last week and I am in delighting in its innocence - well at least the first three chapters.