I've been sick so productivity is down...

Books I've read recently while lying on my back, contemplating what I've done in the Universe by asking for so much snow and commiserating about my sinuses and their utter failure at being happy, good little air pockets:

Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, by Christopher Moore

Irreverent, yes, and very, very funny. It's not disrespectful, just tastefully real. Okay. It's disrespectful of the standard Jesus dogma/story and the people who believe that and take the Bible literally, especially toward the end, but c'mon. What sane woman out there, who is the mother of boys, thought a real little boy called Joshua (who we came to know as Jesus) never ate a lizard or wanted to punch his friends?

Three Cups of Tea, by Greg Mortenson with David Oliver Relin

Yes, Heidi, it did make me want to write a check to Greg Mortenson to help his CAI foundation build another school. But I live in POLAND, remember? They do not have checks here, so I am looking into some kind of electronic transfer arrangement. Oh, and after reading it, I did have three cups of tea--but not the rancid, yak-butter kind he made me sick talking about all the time.

The Bridge on the River Kwai, by Pierre Boule

Amazing how this French author sounds so "British" I had no idea it wasn't a true English classic, 'till I put it down and saw the author's name. Nothing else to see here, move along.

The Road Home, Rose Tremain

Excellent, even had I not moved here and seen the intense desire for home and land, for purpose, most Poles feel. Not sure I've ever read anything she's written; I think she's so good I would remember if I had. I love "her" Lev.

December, Elizabeth Winthrop

Sorry. I liked the author's "Mayflower"-y last name, more than the story of this little girl who one day stops talking and on another day one year hence, for no real reason, simply begins again. I have a thing for the name Winthrop. Oh, let me say it at least three more times: Winthrop, Winthrop, Winthrop. LOVE it. Almost as much as I love saying Boodle Boddlington the Third, Rich English Baby, which is Alex's "other" nickname.

In the Woods, by Tana French

I seem to have liked it more than others in bookclub who've read it, and that's just fine. She does the "little child lost" inner voice very well, and angst and agony as well. Not so sure she nailed the mystery part--the mystery within the more obvious, outer-layer mystery so easily solved, I mean. But I'll read this author again.

A Home at the End of the World, by Michael Cunningham

I imagine that meeting this guy (hey, he was born in Cincinnati, so it could happen; we Ohioans are pretty friendly-like when we meet up IRL) would be a bit like meeting one of his characters. You'd remember him long after he's gone, he'd make you take stock of your life and your hoarded, secret thoughts, then, when you had time to think it over you would never be sure you were glad you had. Unsettling. Perfect.

One Good Turn, Kate Atkinson

Read "Behind the Scenes at the Museum" so thought I'd try this. Not a good idea. There's the car accident witnessed from many POVs, male and female voices attempted fairly well as she takes turns telling their interconnected stories. The "mystery" of the money and the hitman? Not so mysterious, to me, and I HATE knowing who before I'm supposed to. Also? Can we get rid of the Eastern European whore stereotypes now? I did think she told the Archie/dying cat-in-a-sweater part well, and it's a glimpse of what she's capable of, from the book of hers I loved.

By the way, the titles are pink because that's pretty much all I'm doing in honor of tomorrow. I hate Valentine's Day.