The last few books I've read make a weird trio: John Berger's Here Is Where We Meet, Lisa Lutz's Meet the Spellmans, and Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation.
The first is a lovely, spare novel by one of my favorite writers (try At the Wedding by way of meeting him), the second is a cheesy but entertaining local mystery that I snagged from the shelf of advance copies at work (I heart free books), and the third is by a very funny writer who turns up on NPR a lot—but it took me an incredibly long time to get through, because I just don't care that much about the minutia of dead presidents' lives. Daughter of a historian and all.
The main lesson I learned is that mysteries aren't great bedtime reading. My brain is active enough when I'm trying to make it rest. I should stick with short stories that tie up neatly and don't complicate my dreams.
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