Books

Although I didn't say it in so many words in yesterday's blog, I gave up on Dorothy Wordsworth's journal. I really can't see any sense in reading a book that I find boring - after all, I read for pleasure. I interspersed Dorothy with a novel by Reginald Hill about life in Paris under German occupation during World War II. Accepting that it is a novel, it still gives a pretty good idea of what it must have been like. I have now started the book about Meriwether Lewis and his exploration of the upper Mississippi. Waiting in the wings is a John Grisham, The Appeal, which my younger son left for me when he visited yesterday.

I see that Skip is reading World Without End by Ken Follett, a book I thoroughly enjoyed.