One of my visits to the library last week resulted in a very thick and thrilling-looking volume: The Simple Truth by David Baldacci. Heavy carrying was involved in returning home with my heavy haul. I really wanted to read – finally – one of Mr. Baldacci’s critically acclaimed novels. I had my heart set on it.
But it was not to be. I soon discovered that I suffer from an unflattering inability to be fascinated by lawyer lingo, Supreme Court dealings and marble stone details. So back to the library they all went. Mr. Harms, Ms. Knight, Ms. Evans, Messieurs Fiske and the others, without me ever finding out what happened to them.
Instead, I tried to cure my severe cold by re-reading The Ice House by Minette Walters. That particular project went tolerably well.