Oh, No!

Philip Pullman has been named the Greatest Briton in the Arts! That means that yesterday I dissed an essay written by the Greatest Briton in the Arts! I'm so embarrassed. Actually, I'm not embarrassed. I'm scared. This is the kind of thing that can come back to bite a person on the you-know-what.

Thanks to somebody on Child_Lit for the link.

On the Other Hand, I Read a Book I Liked

Yes, folks, it must be one of those weird phases of the moon or something. I actually read a book I liked. It was fantasy, too. Will wonders never cease.

The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner won all kinds of awards when it was published and, for once, I'm in agreement with the folks who were handing them out. I love an anti-hero, and Turner gave us a great one in Gen. Even with all the talk of strange gods and practices The Thief didn't have the heavy mystical mumbo jumbo that so many fantasies do. I figured out Gen's second theft just moments before it was revealed, which was just perfect. The book wasn't at all predictable, but at the same time I could feel smart.

And when all the book's secrets were revealed nothing had to be explained. All the clues had been planted in the story. This reader was left sitting there thinking, "Why, of course!"

To be honest, I finished reading the book today instead of working. I'm a little bummed about that. Hey, but that's my fault, not Turner's.