Hah.

And once again, your friendly neighborhood Bookwench was consumed by the grind of real life. I offer my apologies.

I don't know what it is about retail that somehow manages to entirely consume your soul from time to time. I've experienced this feeling often around the winter holidays, but the past couple of months have been almost as bad.

My reading list has grown considerably since the last time I wrote, though unfortunately there were truly only a few books of note.

The first that comes to mind, Barbara Walters' Audition, was an unlikely read for me. My store sold out of it almost immediately when it was first released, but after a couple of weeks on the bestseller lists we had a fairly solid standing stock. I would have probably ignored it altogether, however, if it wasn't for the fact that Ms. Walters made an appearance on the Daily Show one night when I just happened to be watching. There was something about her sense of humor, that she would even go on Stewart's show, and the way she handled herself once there, that nudged me into seeing what all the fuss was about.

I'm glad I did.

While the memoir is not, of course, a great work of literature in the traditional sense (sometimes it gets a bit wordy and, dare I say, sentimental), it truly does justice to the extraordinary life that this woman has lived, and is living. If any of you out there are familiar with Billy Joel's We Didn't Start the Fire, you might have a similar experience to mine: as I was reading I kept identifying bits and pieces of the book and song that matched up, and I was amused.

Barbara Walters has pretty much lived the last 50+ years of notable American and world history. For someone like myself, who often struggled with history classes in the traditional academic setting, this is a much more accessible and interesting way to gain a greater understanding of "what really happened."

It does seem to me that I've been leaning rather strongly towards nonfiction of late. I go through phases when all I want to read is fiction, and then suddenly nothing in that particular realm interests me in the least; it's as though the oasis had dried up without warning, and all that was left to browse were stones and dry leaves and nothing very interesting at all.

At that point I'm left wandering my usual alternative-reading haunts: biography and science. For me, science is a subject that, in various ways, I clearly did well at in school but once things got to a certain technical level (chemistry, physics) I generally became daunted by the math involved and gave up. So occasionally I'll stumble through those shelves and find something that I can relate to.

This coming week, however, I will allow myself to indulge in what I might normally dismiss as fluff. Honestly, in my most humble, bookwench-y opinion, there's a lot of fluff out there. A great deal of it is not, as they say, relevant to my interests. But Janet Evanovich has a new Stephanie Plum book, Fearless Fourteen, and as I got sucked into that series years ago by my best friend and fellow book-a-holic, I'll give this one a go as I do with each of Evanovich's yearly efforts.

Last year's title, Lean Mean Thirteen, actually made me wonder when the series was finally going to end, because if that was the best the author could do after all that time, surely it was time to call it quits. I know that, generally speaking, all the books have a similar scheme: Plum is desperate, Plum sludges through job, flirts with Ranger, hijinks with Lula and Grandma, gets into a situation more serious than she can handle, calls Joe, blows up a few cars, is rescued, spends a night with Morelli and his dog, eats dinner with parents and newlywed sister (and children), and eventually manages to save the day despite an unbelievable number of fumbles, and all with a spectacular amount of innuendo and humor. Usually these machinations are at least entertaining enough to be worth an hour of so of my time. Last time was the first time I can really say I felt disappointed by the end of the book.

However, I've had a sneak peek at the first few pages of Fourteen, and it seems to be much more promising. So I'm looking forward to that.

I'm also working on another memoir, Bar Flower, that is quite engrossing and will likely merit a post of its own once I finish.

For now, however, it's just about that time where I scuttle off to live amongst the tomes for an hour or eight.

Ta!