I got happy when, after a meeting at the library today, I was walking through the stacks and found Imogen Robertson has written something new. I really enjoyed Instruments of Darkness (which I reviewed some time back); this one is called Anatomy of Murder, and I'm looking forward to joining Harriet Westerman and Gabriel Crowther once again.
I've also dug up, from the stacks that still abound in my not-quite-unpacked office (the hazards of a cross-country move), Smiley's People. I didn't even realize I had a copy of it; I'd checked all the other John le Carré books out at the library. Oh, God. I hope it wasn't a library book that stowed away . . . I only just thought of that. I started it last night, am only six pages in, but will probably move over to Robertson first (which most definitely is a library book) before finishing this one.
And I still have PDFs of a review copy of a book I meant to take a look at . . . And there are any number of titles on my Kindle, but last time I perused them, none caught my fancy. (Sometimes I download free copies of things, or books I've read decent reviews of, and then realize I have no interest in them. At least at that moment in time.)
And then again, I also have books of my own. To write. Which I should probably get around to right about now.
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