Some days are days for writing, some are days for reading. Today is decidedly of the reading variety. So much so that it is difficult to tear myself away from the book I'm reading. It is incredible. What if something were to happen while I was gone?
For once, normally bloated dust jacket claims contain truth. Life of Pi really is "a novel of such rare and wondrous storytelling" that I do not want to put it down. Not only that, but in the midst of the headiness of inhaling such a well crafted novel, I am prone to believe L'Humanité's bold claim that "...the name of the greatest writer of the generation born in the sixties is Yann Martel". It is such a lovely book - so many themes and questions to ponder - that the threat of breaking my post a day promise fills me with only a hint of guilt, but sometimes a hint is enough.
So, now I go to my reward (a final one, but not the final one ) - the final 40 pages. I will be sad to have finished. Finishing a good book is like parting with a new love. You know you'll see each other again and that it will be great, but it will never be intoxicating in the same way as the first time. On the up side, there is more Yann Martel to read, and this book will undoubtedly yield more material for a future post.