Now with vitamins and minerals.
Just finished two novels, mainly in the bathtub: The Edith Wharton Murders: A Nick Hoffman Mystery by Lev Raphael (Stonewall Inn, 1998), a slight novel most notable for its bitter, somehow bloodless, yet very funny send-up of the dusty grey corners of second-tier academe. Highly therapeutic, especially just now. I mean, things are bad, but at least I don’t have to share an office.
The second one was the latest Ian Rankin novel, Exit Music, which chronicles the final ten days of John Rebus’ chequered career with the Edinburgh police. It was excellent; perhaps not as strong as the novel immediately preceding it, The Naming of the Dead, but satisfying all the same and clearly indicating, or at least leaving the door open to, Rebus’ further adventures. Rankin is too smart to paint himself into the same corner as Arthur Conan Doyle.