OK, for any Gentle Reader who has not yet read or seen Ten Little Indians, AKA And Then There Were None (New York: Pocket 1979), let me start by saying it was the judge. The JUDGE! OK? Secondly, Agatha Christie…

In the ramble about airplane books, YHB forgot to mention the really dire part: I have run out of Dick Francis books. They pretty much typify airplane reading, but having read all of them several times by now, they can’t…

One thing about airplane travel, at least for YHB, is how necessary it is to have the right book. Not a great book. A competent book, that’s important. A book that’s too annoying would make the ride less pleasant, so…

Dang. I wish I’d jotted down the table of contents for Over the Rainbow: Tales of Fantasy and Imagination (London: Octopus 1983). It had H.G. Wells’ “The Truth about Pyecraft”, I know, and a bit out of the Oz books…

Speaking of airplane reading, The Wolves of Savernake, by Edward Marston (New York: Fawcett 1995) is pretty much just that. It read like a knock-off of the Brother Cadfael books. In other words, pleasantly written, unoriginal, unmemorable, formulaic, and reasonably…

YHB happened to have extra time on his hands, and was near a copy of Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, so add another book to the list. I don’t particularly like it; it seems to be, well, a bad…

Your Humble Reader had one of those disorienting moments recently, when a thing thought to be true turns out not to be true. I had always thought that I liked E.B. White’s Stuart Little more than Charlotte’s Web, but it…