In the meantime, I’m still slogging my way through Before Ever After by Samantha Sotto and trying to inhibit my inner booksnob’s tendency to be hypercritical and instead into being gentle and acceptive. It’s not horrible but I have been exhibiting a few eye-rolls. Why can’t I have fun with these books? Why am I craving Ian McEwan right now? I might have to read A.S. Byatt’s Possession next. Would that be a high-brow enough palate cleanser?