So back in November I declared myself back in the blogging saddle, having resumed my hobby from its previous hiatus. I commenced with a review of Connie Willis’ Blackout and All Clear, and then, nothing. Until now, nearly three months later.
What happened? Well I got busy with the whole teaching English thing, then finding an apartment in Ho Chi Minh City, and ad then there was plans made for a holiday trip to Northern Thailand during the Tet holiday here (Tet being a good time to get away from Viet Nam, since the whole country basically shuts down for a week to celebrate).
Then this happened. And it sucked. And it continues to suck.
But now I’m getting on with the new normal, and finding time for my hobbies again.
I should add that I still read a lot of books while this was going on; in fact I resorted to a lot of literary comfort food during my convalescence. I reread Tolkien — The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion and The Children of Hurin. I reread Douglas Adams, the entire Hitchhiker’s Guide plus the Dirk Gently novels. I even reread some old Star Trek novels that were favorites of my youth (some of which, alas, haven’t exactly withstood the test of time).
I also read some new stuff, including Glen Duncan’s The Last Werewolf, which I ordered after having read the New York Time’s book review. Perhaps I’ll get around to posting a review here, but for now let it suffice to say that I found more faults with it than does the NY Times’ reviewer. I don’t know if that’s because I’m just more fussy, or perhaps because I’ve read many more examples of that genre and related ones in my misspent youth. The Last Werewolf is certainly not without merits, but it takes more than clever prose to rescue yet another ho-hum tale about an over-sexed, angst-ridden, ennui-filled debonair monster.
Anyway, on with the show (provided I don’t break or tear something else).