I just gave up on finishing Touchstone by Laurie R. King. I could not take wading through it any longer, and I was only on page 43. It felt like my brain had been pushing through the thickest of mire: too many sentences and paragraphs to get to a point. Such over-description is so unnecessary and vastly old-fashioned. There are just too many books to read without sticking with the quagmire ones.
The key to writing – brevity – seems to have been abandoned or ignored by King. The first book I read by her was A Grave Talent, a remarkable work in many ways. It will stay in my keeper library – boxes of books to reread for pure pleasure or for their perfect writing form. One of these days we will have a two-story library in which to shelve all the keepers my husband and I have read.
We do not enjoy the same types of books, most of the time. He prefers spy and gritty stuff, as well as nonfiction (economics and politics). I prefer murder mysteries and historical fiction with a little award-winning literature (Water for Elephants, The Secret Life of Bees, The Kite Runner, etc.) thrown in. We both like to read John Grisham and Philippa Gregory.
Last month I went through seven Harlan Coben books. I regularly read Kathy Reichs, Tess Gerritsen, Janet Evanovich, Edward Marston, Dan Brown, Clive Cussler, John Sandford, and David Baldacci. Danny’s into Richard Russo, Stieg Larsson, and Carl Hiaasen. We read so much but, unfortunately, do not keep a list. The ones we do not like are donated to the public library. The ones we do are keepers.