Not much else to report. Well, except that no matter how big the wave of glowing reviews showered upon me by smart, articulate people – whether we're talking about The Drowning Girl or Alabaster: Wolves or anything else – one cretinous review written by someone whose reading/composition/comprehension skills would shame the least intelligible Australopithicus afarensis, and I'm thrown for a loop. Both of those books have been met with all but universal praise, and I still can't avoid this trap. Yes, it's ridiculous that I let the overwhelmingly positive be outweighed by the virtually nonexistent negative, but I've been this way since Silk.
Okay. I think I need to lie down again. Fuck you, microbes.