After finishing the William Randolph Hearst biography that I noted in an earlier post, I sprinted through two novels, slacker-ironist Benjamin Kunkel's Indecision and dour Ian MacEwan's On Chesil Beach. The latter, though painful, is really good, and makes the former feel in retrospect a bit like amateur hour (though that's too harsh about a largely enjoyable read).
Next week I will begin a semester's hard labor on my school's appointments committee. This may doom my reading for a while, given the tree-slaying tomes by potential hirees or invitees that I will need to spend my weekends slogging through.
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