For school I'm re-reading Dave Eggers' kickass A Hearbreaking Work of Staggering Genius -- his novel is by the bedstand, right by the half-read Trollope, and it looks pretty good. I know I'll pretty much end up liking the book if for no other reason than Eggers mentioning Colombia in the novel's first sentence.

Erdrich's Last Report was very good.

As was As You Like It (specially Jacques and Touchstone, though on first reading I took the former as being amused and a little bitter, whereas in fact he was, on watching the BBC play, he was way bitter, which Rosalind had every right to call him on (J: "It's good to be sad and to say nothing," R: "Why then, it's good to be a post.")), part of the Shakespeare OCD thingie -- the whole reading of the plays in chronological order. On to Henry V!

What I'm reading right now (for school) is Louise Erdrich's The Last Report on the Miracle at Little No Horse.

It's rather good so far, but that might have much do with having finally slogged through the last page of Accordion Crimes, a book with no soul, no drive, nothing but a steady accumulation of factual data and massive amounts of violence. There is authority in the voice. There are an awful lot of accordions. But the book's a chore: tedious, draining, shallow, and unrewarding.

Trollope sits by the bedstand waiting.

What I'm reading right now is Anthony Trollope's Dr. Wortle's School.

For school I'm reading E. Annie Proulx's Accordion Crimes.

The Last Gentleman was OK, and it had many of those shimmering deadpan bits that ran through The Moviegoer, but I liked the former better. This one has moments of great beauty and humor but it's a hazy book, its energy is very diffused. Burgess probably saw far more in it -- stuff I totally missed I'm sure.