I've been reading this book (to my left there), Margaret Atwood's latest, all week, and i'm having a real problem with it. I used to love her work, she began life as a poet and her first few novels had the poet's gift for le mot juste. Now she just seems verbose.
I'm having a great deal of trouble absorbing what i'm reading, it's very disappointing, it's as though she aspires to be Canada's answer to Marcel Proust but without the gift for detail.
Anyway, i did, as promised, watch another episode of "Between The Lines," such a powerful one ("Manoeuvre 11" it was called) that i was weeping real tears at one point. (The child dies.) (Ha, ha, now i've ruined it for you.) And then i watched (most of) disc 2 of the 4-disc deluxe expanded extended exploded edition of "The Return Of The King." Fabulous stuff. Literally!
And now i'm doing laundry (no, really) and listening to Bruce Springsteen's CD "Magic."