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What are you reading at the moment?

I just bought 2 books for the library.

One is MOUNTAIN PEOPLE by Colin Turnbull. Turnbull spent some time living with a Uganda tribe called the IK! In 1960 most people in the tribe were dead by the age of 22 or so. The people were totally feral using infants as bait for leopards, abandoning children at the age of 3, and subsisting on prostitution, theft, poaching, and predation upon the sick Most of them starved to death. Turnbull hated them.

#2 is a 3 for 1 collection of novels by Frederick Forsyth: DAY OF THE JACKAL, THE ODESSA FILE, and WAR DOGS,
 
'The Wesleyan Anthology of Science Fiction'. 150 years worth of the best Science Fiction ever collected. A terrific read for lovers of the genre'.
 
"The Many Worlds of Abud Yasin: or, What Narcotics Trafficking in the Interwar Middle East Can Tell Us about Territorialization" in The American Historical Review by Cyrus Schayegh.

Ok, so I'm not really, I'm, posting here instead. But I should be. :rolleyes:
 
George R. R. Martin: A Game Of Thrones, Book 1 - Song of Ice and Fire for fiction

Adam Kahane: Solving Tough Problems: An Open Way of Talking, Listening, and Creating New Realities for non-fiction

Both riveting. :)
 
The Forgotten Techniques of our 19th Century Girder Men

Also riveting. :)

Hi Di!
 
What I am reading ...

George R.R. Martin's 'A Storm of Swords' Third in his 'Song of Ice and Fire' series, the man is an absolute genius!! And I just finished Volume five of Cate Tiernan's Sweep Series ... I love those stories too although they are YA fare.
 
'The Best of the Best:20 Years of the Best Science Fiction'.
 
"The Last Stand" by Nathaniel Philbrick. A very interesting look at Custer, Sitting Bull, and their famous battle.
 
DaddyValin said:
"The Last Stand" by Nathaniel Philbrick. A very interesting look at Custer, Sitting Bull, and their famous battle.
Click to expand...


In light of Custer and Philbrick, you might find this thread interesting:
http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?p=34494989&highlight=custer#post34494989



I've just begun:
The Only Way To Cross
by John Maxtone-Graham
New York, N.Y. 1972

It's a history of the grand Atlantic passenger liners from the original Mauretania of 1907 through the Titanic and the various Queens.



 
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this may be super rediculous..but my son came home from school..he is a jr and is reading The hunger games for english. I could not put the book down. I got all three and read a book a night. they are not fetish or anything...but really interesting to me...it inspired him to want to write and anything that can do that is amazing to me. i also read any erotica that comes my way....I am pretty open minded as long as it is legal...
 
sr71plt said:
I like Lee Childs and Kathy Reichs a whole lot better in person than in their books.
Click to expand...

Definitely going to agree with you on the Lee Child front. Just finished "The Hard Way". Well, I read most of it then skipped a few chapters before the end and just to read the last few pages to see how it concluded because it was the second time in the book I had guessed a major plot-twist about 100 pages before the super-intelligent ex-Military Police investigator main character. Bah.

The other one of his I started was much better, but I certainly won't waste my time on any more of his books.

At least Kathy keeps me guessing...
 
The Fifth Woman

Henning Mankell

This is the second of the Wallander books that I have read, and I absolutely love it.
 

...He had discovered a cafeteria in Saint-Germain-des-Prés without waiters, which was the only restaurant in Paris he would enter.

"I starve without this place," Mr. Hara said. "French velly bad. French hate Japanese people."

"The French hate everybody."

He toasted our friendship with a glass of red wine held aloft, then said to me, "Are you mad at Mr. Hara for Pearl Harbor?"

"No, of course not, Mr. Hara. Are you mad at me for Hiroshima?"

"Mr. Hara velly, velly solly for Pearl Harbor. Velly solly for the Japanese people. Japan should have attacked France. That would be velly good."

"You don't mean that, Mr. Hara."

"Yes," he said fiercely, "then Mr. Hara would kill all French waiters. They hate Japanese people."

As we ate, Mr. Hara began reciting a list of atrocities committed against him in French restaurants. He talked and ate at the same time. He was not dextrous with a fork. He had ordered peas, and I do not think a single pea passed between his lips. There were peas on his shirt, sitting singly and in pairs on his arms, peas in his wine, peas spread across his side of the table, and peas rolling toward mine. When the peas were dispersed, he began dismembering his chicken breast with inelegant, skewering movements of his knife and fork. The chicken hit the floor twice, shooting off his plate like a flushed quail. He would pick it up, apologize, continue his bitter fulmination against the French nation, and beat at the chicken with his utensils. When the meal was done, I looked at Mr. Hara finishing his pea-flavored wine. When I saw his face, I could not keep from hooting. There were peas on his chin, red cabbage hanging from the buttons of his shirt, chicken morsels on his upper lip. Remnants of his entire meal were scattered over his face and body. He laughed with me; then, staring at his fork, he declared, "Fork velly hard. Chopsticks velly easy. The French invent fork? No, Mr. Pat?"

"I don't know, Mr. Hara."

"Yes. They invent fork. Because they hate Japanese people."

​


-Pat Conroy
My Reading Life
New York, N.Y. 2010.




I first sampled Conroy by reading The Prince of Tides. I was previously aware of his literary success and the sudden appearance of that volume in my favorite used book store gave me all the excuse I needed to give him a try. It's unusual for me to read fiction: Barth, Tyler, le Carré, Twain, (John) Irving and Mencken make up the vast majority of my forays into the genre. Nevertheless, Conroy struck a chord, most likely due to some geographic and cultural familiarities. We are, after all, spawn of tidewater. It can't be denied that Conroy has penned some memorable lines.

My Reading Life is a series of autobiographical essays and vignettes about his formative literary influences. It's not an unpleasant way to spend parts of evenings. Written in fifteen chapters, the book lends itself to being picked up and put aside as necessity dictates.

 
The Language of Flowers

A mesmerizing, moving, and elegantly written debut novel, The Language of Flowers beautifully weaves past and present, creating a vivid portrait of an unforgettable woman whose gift for flowers helps her change the lives of others even as she struggles to overcome her own troubled past.

The Victorian language of flowers was used to convey romantic expressions: honeysuckle for devotion, asters for patience, and red roses for love. But for Victoria Jones, it’s been more useful in communicating grief, mistrust, and solitude. After a childhood spent in the foster-care system, she is unable to get close to anybody, and her only connection to the world is through flowers and their meanings.

Now eighteen and emancipated from the system, Victoria has nowhere to go and sleeps in a public park, where she plants a small garden of her own. Soon a local florist discovers her talents, and Victoria realizes she has a gift for helping others through the flowers she chooses for them. But a mysterious vendor at the flower market has her questioning what’s been missing in her life, and when she’s forced to confront a painful secret from her past, she must decide whether it’s worth risking everything for a second chance at happiness.


Yes, I like to read angst-ridden novels with potentially happy endings, so sue me
 

...The hanging party came into the square, and Aliena emerged from her reverie. She looked closely at the prisoner, stumbling along at the end of a rope, his hands tied behind his back. It was William Hamleigh...


...Willam was going to make a bad end.

His eyes were wild and staring, his mouth was open and drooling, he was moaning incoherently, and there was a stain on the front of his tunic where he had wet himself...


...It took a long time but the crowd remained quiet throughout. His face turned darker and darker. His agonized writhing became a mere twitching. At last his eyes rolled up into his head, his eyelids closed, he became still, and then, gruesomely, his tongue stuck out, black and swollen, between his teeth...


​


-Ken Follett
The Pillars of The Earth
New York, N.Y. 2002.




An architect friend had been insisting that I read the book for several months and a sister had been haranguing me to read it for years. I finally succumbed to the pressure. It's rare for me to read fiction and both are well aware of it, nevertheless asserting that the book was closer to history than fiction.

They're wrong. While it is entertaining, engaging and escapist, the book is every bit as boringly predictable and formulaic as one would expect a bestselling work of fiction ( and— god help us all— an Oprah Book Club selection) to be. At nearly 1,000 pages in length, it'll burn a lot of the hours that you sought to fill by picking it up in the first place. On the whole, there are better ways to spend time.


 
Anthony Hope: The Prisoner of Zenda and Rupert of Hentzau.

I'm enjoying revisiting Ruritania.
 
Keepers of the Keys of Heaven: A History of Papacy

That's when I'm not reading a dirty Severus/Lucius fic. I surprise myself.
 
Roma -- Steven Saylor

The Mummy Case -- Elizabeth Peters

Byways in Palestine (1936) -- Mary E. Lakenan
 
All about her the dead lay with their peeled skulls like polyps bluely wet or luminescent melons cooling on some mesa of the moon. In the days to come the frail black rebuses of blood in those sands would crack and break and drift away so that in the circuit of a few suns all trace of the destruction of these people would be erased.

Reading BLOOD MERIDIAN again.

The way narrowed through rocks and by and by they came to a bush that was hung with dead babies.

They stopped side by side, reeling in the heat. These small victims, seven, eight of them, had holes punched in their underjaws and were hung so by their throats from the broken stobs of a mesquite to stare eyeless at the naked sky.
 
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The Moonlit Mind: A Tale of Suspense ~ Dean Knootz


Thank you for the gift baby. :heart:
 
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