Tiring of angst, agony, irony, and other vestiges of the postmodern in our literature, the book group unanimously elected to pursue the reading of P.G. Wodehouse's The Mating Season. As I have yet to make it through a Jeeves and Wooster novel or even collection of short stories, this will present a signal challenge and opportunity. Wodehouse is much like Chesterton for me--legions of vehement fans--but I just don't get it. So let's hope that this is my opportunity to get it--and, if not become a rabid fan, at least have a new source of gentle comedy to turn to when the angst of the new age becomes too overwhelming.
By the way--the entire group hated Brockmeier's The Illumination. The verdict--beautifully written--but too many unrelated gimmicks in a story that was really too dismal for words. That said--I know that there are a great many out there who will enjoy it and my overall ranking for it--despite by personal distaste remains four-star.