I've been reading The Ghost Writer by John Harwood, and I can't stop.
It's fantastic--- beautifully written, haunting, inventive, and absolutely engrossing. (I'll be sure to provide links to reviews as well as a short synopsis later, although I'm afraid I won't be able to do it justice.)
I'm enjoying it immensely. I have spent the whole day inside with the book, even though this has turned out to be a beautiful and unseasonably warm day. I'm dying to find out what happens next, but maybe its time to go outside and get a breath of fresh air, and savor the anticipation of finishing the book tonight.
I usually don't have so much self control, but it would be a pity to stay in on such a beautiful day.
Oh the pleasurable dilemmas of a Saturday afternoon. If only all my days were like this.