Four. . .

I finished up A Moveable Feast  the other day and moved right on to Jane Rogers’s Island, a story about stories. The stories we tell ourselves and the stories we tell each other and how they shape our thoughts and our actions. Island is, at times, a brutal story about a girl, Nikke Black, who grew up as an unwanted child and was shuffled from place to place and never given a home. At the age of 29, she decides to find the birth mother who abandoned her, and kill her.

I’m not giving anything away here. Nikki makes this decision in the first few sentences. Island isn’t about that. It’s about the path Nikki travels to accomplish this frightening goal, and the stories- and the storyteller- that influence the final outcome.

I had read it last year or the year before, I can’t remember which, and it stuck with me, though there were parts I had not remembered clearly, so in places it was like reading new chapters that had been added in. It was a quick read, though, at 211 pages.

Up next is Mary Stewart’s The Last EnchantmentThe Wicked Day, and then Diane Ackerman’s A Natural History of the Senses, unless I already read that this year (it’s usually a summer tradition for me). I’m feeling good about achieving my 100 books for the year, since it’s December 12th, and I only have a few books to go.

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