So much for lonely cold camping.
After setting up camp and enjoying some McDonald's Dollar Coke we settled in for bed time reading.
That night I finished another Wallander mystery, One Step Behind. This time, a group of young people is missing. Nothing seems out of the ordinary until one of Wallander's coworkers is murdered for investigating the missing young adults. People continue to be murdered and no motive comes to light. Solving a growing number of murders gets added to the list of Wallander's worries (including denial about having diabetes). Wallander's usual questions concerning Sweden's decline bundle together with questions about how well we know our coworkers.
Per usual, Wallander had me up late because I can't put him down.
Saturday I read my latest guilty pleasure series. I read fantasy, but I don't usually delve into urban fantasy. However, when a fellow fantasy reading coworker brought me Ilona Andrews' Kate Daniels series, I had to try it.
Many times, reading books people lend you is a burden. What if you don't like it? Will you have to stop talking to them?
I was wary. The cover art includes a lion, a sexy (but tough) woman, and a giant sword. Don't stop reading.
The books are 100 percent entertainment. Kate Daniels is a mercenary with some powerfully magic blood. She goes around Atlanta kicking butt and taking names. The city goes in (no magic) and out (magic) of "tech" all the time, so sometimes she rides a donkey, others a car. There are vampires and shapeshifters and deities...oh my. Kate always gets her man, or beast, or demon. Oh, and she has a flirtatious thing with the king of the shapeshifters. Ooo la la.
Basically it is everything an overworked girl could want.
Sunday I was able to start the Witcher series (One Last Wish), which begins with scary vignettes. This morning I was reading in my tent and as the Witcher is about to battle some type of beast, Face was staring off into the woods like something was about to come kill us. He is not allowed to do that.
I never got to my final selection: Henry Miller's Tropic of Cancer (or as I like to call it: 1930's intellectual erotica). I have a crush on Anais Nin. I read her diaries. I think she's great. She thought Henry Miller was great. They were so influential to each other that I feel like I can't know Anais without knowing Henry. If you haven't read Miller, think of him like Kerouac but way earlier and deeper thinking and better writing and less hating of women.
Overall, I kept my reading like my mood this weekend: light.
And when I wasn't reading? I was jumping the sun:
