So. Loose ends and scrap heaps. Snatched sleep and half-finished sentences. And all that jazz. Sorry, I thought that was jazz, except with added nose-trumpet and sta-sta-stacatto riddim.
I haven’t had a Saturday morning of doing nothing in a while. It’s not altogether pleasant — like all the myriad possibilities of how I might fill my time more productively than I am doing pressing down on me, creating brain fudge. Anyhoo, least said soonest mended.
Finished The Intruders last night. As usual with Michael Marshall’s stuff I was in a frantic rush to get to the end, so I will need to re-read at a more leisurely pace later. As usual, the pace was excellent, the tone laced with menace and the odd moment of surreal humour (I felt there were nods back to at least four of his previous books). I wish he didn’t do the exposition bit at the end, but I guess there’s no point having the big idea if you don’t get to explain it to people. And as with the previous trilogy, there’s a nice open door for his characters to walk back through, should he want to re-visit (although there’s less of a need to, I guess). Scarily close to some of my big themes for novel 2, but not enough to make it a non-starter. Which I’m sure, dear reader, is a relief to everyone.
