Monday, December 09, 2013

Mo said she was quirky by James Kelman

Only 200 pages mustered.  Too bad, a big fan of Kelman's How Late It Was, How Late.

Now it seems to be by my fault that I'm not finishing reading books, after always priding myself on being a finisher, good or bad.  Impatience?  Extended bad mood?  Encroaching old age?  Sudden clarification of sharp personal idiosyncratic literary taste?  Advancing alcoholism?

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