There is something so intriguing about love stories that never really work out the way they planned, leaving both parties horribly depressed and alone throughout most of their lives until they realize that the only thing they ever wanted- for person A and themself to get together (finally!), is actually happening. it sucks for all other parties involved- mother-in-law, dead husband/bff, torn lovers who are instrumental in small pieces lining up in order for fate to signal to the (finally!) happy couple that they are *sigh* meant to be. i ate this up with a spoon, and then licked the bowl. in this analogy, i liken Beginner's Greek to the best BEST bread pudding i have ever had, with just the right amount of rasins, and rum sauce, but not so that it becomes too sweet, just eggy and moist and nice and absolute perfection in my mouth for a few seconds as it slides down my throat easily and deliciously. mmmmmm now i want bread pudding. damn. today is christmas eve day! where is the hustle and bustle and warm comforts? still asleep, i believe it's only 6:35 in the a.m. too early to keep my eyes open much longer to also write about book 98. 31 Bond Street. But i guess there really isn't that much to say about it, otherwise than what a good period writer, what a bad mystery writier. nothing made sense in the way that mystery/action novels are supposed to all twist and tie together. perhaps i'll write more on 98 later.
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