In Which Your Humble Blogger is caught up on book reports, not counting the four books I’m in the middle of now, and of course any of the books that I have forgotten about entirely.
In Which Your Humble Blogger reads the wrong play.
In Which Your Humble Blogger accidentally rereads a book, because, hey, it was in my hand, what else was I supposed to do?
In Which Your Humble Blogger is old, he grows old, he shall wear the bottoms of his trousers rolled, but at least he’ll wear trousers, what what?
In Which Your, um, lemme think, Blogger something, and like when you get a toaster. Man, I’m tired.
In Which a pretty good book fails to fulfill Your Humble Blogger’s expectations.
In Which Your Humble Blogger finds that the moment a writer on Scripture treats feminist interpretation as inherently risible, he loses respect for that writer’s perspicacity and acuity.
In Which Your Humble Blogger somehow still thinks that Denholm Elliott should play the old Dissenting preacher.
In Which Your Humble Blogger sides with the downtrodden against the elite. I mean, except that the happy ending is just that she joins the elite, but you take what you can get, right?
In Which Your Humble Blogger reads the sequel first. Again.