I’m listening to Meg Wolitzer’s The Interestings in the car now, a great improvement over The One And Only. While I wouldn’t say the book is making me enjoy driving, it does make me dread driving less, so that’s something, and often I find myself sitting in my car listening to the end of the chapter.
It’s been a really long time since I reading something that I simultaneously didn’t want to put down, and didn’t want to finish. It’s the kind of novel that makes me want to stop reading and go write, and also the kind of novel that makes me despair of ever writing something so real.
