Two Down, 48 To Go
I finished Book Number Two Friday night. It was Rendezvous In Black, by Cornell Woolrich, one of the forgotten classics of noir literature, reissued last year in a beautiful Modern Library paperback edition. Possibly the finest fiction ever written on the subject of obsessive love. I admire a writer who's not afraid to tell the truth: Life is a dark and evil void, and our sanity hangs by a thin rope. Anyway, not one for your grandma's nightstand. Like all noir, the plot barely holds together, and the villain is a tad superhuman for my taste. I was this close to calling in Morgan Freeman to combat him. But the central conceit is airtight, and I couldn't stop reading.
And no, I'm not going to pad out my list all year with short, easy-to-read crime books. I, like anyone else who fetishizes printed manner, go in streaks. Sometimes long books, sometimes short ones, sometimes pop, sometimes literary. I've always liked to try everything at the buffet, unless it's made with mayonnaise or sour cream.