Category: Book Report

In Which Your Humble Blogger neglects to talk about how good Ciaran Hinds was, so just slips it into the pull-quote, because he really was quite good.

In Which Your Humble Blogger connects a book to a person, and then to another person, and then goes back to the book, and then back to the person, and maybe I’ll just never read another book.

In Which Your Humble Blogger likes yet another Victorian novel. This is getting to be a trend; fortunately, my next will be Robert Elsemere, which I’m bound to give up on after forty pages.

In Which Your Humble Blogger is misled, although not really.

In Which Your Humble Blogger knows y’all haven’t read the book, and doesn’t want to get you in trouble again.

In Which Your Humble Blogger runs out of steam. If it’s steam that I’m thinking off. I’m out of something, anyway.

In Which Your Humble Blogger discusses the pleasures and perils of starting a series of books, and then gets all distracted, because-what?

In Which Your Humble Blogger will take even fictitious victories, although, to be clear, four games above .500 isn’t bad for a team that stinks as bad as we do.

In Which Your Humble Blogger decides that if I read one play out of a collection, I should blog it as a single play, rather than ignoring it.

In Which Your Humble Blogger has nothing. Nothing at all. Beans. Pebbles. Sausage. Nuttin.