I received a lot of books for Christmas, and have finished two and am well into my third. They are categorically excellent. More often than not I tend to drift about my collection, pulling down different works that I have read or perused to greater or lesser extents, revisiting or finally reading books that were purchased months if not years ago. Occasionally a new book will find its way into my small library, but for the most part I am content, if a little stultified, to circle and recircle within my collection.

But no longer! A pillar of books sit by my desk, with works ranging from Nabokov to Chabon, from Byatt to Bulgakov, all purchased thanks to recommendations by Library Thing. I find myself invigorated, excited, keen to devour and immerse myself in new and fresh waters (if I sound a little like Kimbote, from Nabokov’s Pale Fire, then forgive me – I am currently half way through that novel, and find myself duly influenced).

These books are large in scope, and hard to encapsulate in concise and quickly written posts. Given that most of the are classics (even the most recent ones are quickly proving themselves so), I hope that you, my gentle readers, will be able to bring sufficient knowledge and opinion to the table so as to contextualize my comments, and perhaps enrich them with insights of your own!

Damn Kimbote!