So, for the record, did yesterday's description of Between Silk and Cyanide count as a real review? Because really, I think it's mostly what I was going for. Wasn't it? Was there anything missing? It didn't feel structured, but...oh, heck, what do I know?
Anyway, I can't write a review tonight--I'm too clogged in the sinuses; it's all I can do to remember the title of the book, much less what I thought of it. I'll say that I finished Mistress of the Art of Death and was pleased. Everything was tied up very satisfactorily, even to the extent that some very small dissatisfactions prevent the ending from being too pat.
I'm reading Shutter Island, too, by Dennis Lehane. A few things have conspired to bring this to pass: my friend Sheila, who loves Lehane, has left me feeling like I should read one of his books. The previews for the movie that came out recently made the premise sound interesting, but I'm not much of a Leo DiCaprio fan, so I thought I'd read the book instead. And heck, it was sitting right there on the shelf. Really, that's the key.
I've got a good metric ton of reading to do, but luckily I'm sick as a dog--plenty of time for that.