My distraction of mind of late has been such that I haven't been able to finish reading many novels for a few months now, but for at least a year or two I haven't even attempted to read any novels of doorstop dimensions, finding them far too daunting to contemplate. But suddenly, praise Dickens, I can read again! And not only that, but I'm reading big books. The breakthrough novel for me was Clockers by Richard Price, which I raced through last week. This week I'm reading the even bigger Acacia by the gentlemanly David Anthony Durham, and I couldn't be happier.

I might even feel up to attempting Anathem next week.