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I'll admit - I'm one of Mr. Ellis's devoted interwebs disciples. But I'm also a reader who's been reading for a very long time (relatively speaking.) I know a piece of shit when I read it. The name on the cover usually dosen't sway my opinion on how well a book is written. That said, this book is a wonderful, brutal, perverted pile of shit. )
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Lately, I've been reading a lot of fluffy books. (brain candy.) Hit on Kathy Reichs, who wrote a number of books on which the TV show "Bones" is based on. I like her forward writing style, even if she tends to overuse the chapter cliffhanger convention. Makes it hard to find a good place to put the books down. Started with Bones to Ashes which is, apparently the 5th book in the series. (Hate it when I start halfway through a series.)

I happened to be in a Paper Store looking for wrapping paper, (You'd think a place called Paper Store would have had more of a selection of wrapping paper, but I digress,) when my eye settled on From Baghdad, With Love: A Marine, the War, and a Dog Named Lava. Picked it up, thinking I'd save it for after the current run of brain candy.

Got home and figured, what the hell, I'll read the first chapter to see if I like the style, or if it's going on the shelf of poor purchases.


1:30 am the next morning, I finished the book.

I don't want to say it was a particularly well written book, but it was painfully compelling. It didn't tell the story of the war, it didn't try to sell you an agenda, it was a brutal and honest story of one man's, (and many of his acquaintances,) fight to save the dog he begrudgingly came to love in the storm of insanity only war can kick up.

In the end, it is heart warming. You can pretty much gleen that from the title. Along the way, though, you read nervously, as if by the action of turning the page you might initiate events that will spiral out of control.

Highly recommend it, for the dog lover, but also for the person who can't understand why men two, three tour in, continue to volunteer to go back.

- k.
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Illustrator's post from a few days ago about her favorite book growing up sent me on the look for mine. I'd talked to her about it, discribed it in detail, and last night, when I got home, I couldn't get it out of my mind.

So as I was laying in bed, staring at the dark, I realized when I moved, HorseChaser brought a few things down from my parent's place.

One was a box of books.

So, at midnight, I toss on the light, stumble down the stairs, and start digging through the boxes that still litter the apartment.

I find the box of books.
And against the far side of the box, I find:

And I take it up stairs, chuckling to myself, and I sat down and read "The Dragon and the Hippogriff".

And you know? for a little while, all was right with the world.

- k.
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Finished Catch 22 last night.
Still digesting it.

Nately and the Chaplin made me cry, I identified quite a bit with Yossarian, and Orr reflected my desire to persevere, grab a raft, and make my own luck.

At work today, not productive At All.
Need to go home, do some freelance.
Bake an apple chrisp.
Pack to go to Canada. (Forgot that I'm going to Canada this thurs-fri. Fabulous.)

Feeling chronically fatigued.
- k.
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ALA's top 100 banned books. )


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