I have been sitting on a hardback of Donna Tartt's The Little Friend since last Christmas. There were so many books sitting on the pile before it and I wanted to wait until I had time to really get absorbed in it. I read the first half at Thanksgiving and finished it this weekend. How totally not worth the wait. It was fantastic writing -- I loved the characters and I was right there in Mississippi -- but I like a little more resolution with my 556 pages. Not sure what I'll read next.

I'm working on my holiday newsletter which means I go through my list of movies seen and books read and my books have plunged to an all time low. I was thinking of trying to read a bunch of books to bring up the numbers but I have less than a month, tons to do, and who's grading me anyway? Meanwhile, the NYT's special book section is sitting by my bed and I will no doubt add twice as many new books to the list.

Bob has the killer flu right now -- the one with the endless horking cough. He's in bad shape. He's been sleeping downstairs for almost a week. We're like roommates. I had something like this at the end of the summer and I'm desperate to avoid it.