This list of books read in January doesn’t include my pulpy romances simply because I can’t remember how many of them I’ve read. It’s definitely above eight in number. I abandoned at least two of them because they were just too cringe-inducing. I don’t know if it’s the romances coming my way — yes, let’s just pretend they waft into my Kindle, without any sort of agency on my part — or a general trend, but more and more heroines appear to be either virginal or verging on virginal. These ladies are so damned wide-eyed at the heroes and so in awe of the heroes’ sexual prowess that I would like to poke them in their eyes with vibrators.
But that’s not the point. Here’s what I’ve read in January.
A Handbook for My Lover
The Private Life of Mrs. Sharma
Spinster: Making a Life of One’s Own
There are two possible reasons for me not writing about a title: laziness or attempted diplomacy. Chances are high of the former being more compelling than the latter. Both A Handbook for My Lover and The Private Life of Mrs. Sharma are quick reads. Spinster took longer. I’d started reading it last month and it got abandoned mid-way. I suspect if I hadn’t found it in my bag while killing time at an airport, I wouldn’t have bothered to finish it. Slade House isn’t bad, but not quite as brilliant as Mitchell’s books have been of late.