After work, I was hesitant to go home. In my head I called it post-burglary stress disorder. J was at work doing OT. I would be alone in the middle of a storm. So I ate somewhere, went online. The wind was blowing too hard for me to go home, so I sat outside the restaurant and hoped I had a lot of money, the kind of amount that would allow me to simply shrug off a stolen laptop.
I told you about my deceased maternal grandfather visiting us in the form of a butterfly. Or so my mother believed. On my way back to Metro Manila on Sunday, the bus door opened, and I saw a butterfly with white spots settling on the sleeve of my shirt. I thought of Lolo. I didn’t really know him. All I remember was that he loved to read, and that he was a bit sungit; he didn’t like us touching his carpentry tools when he was working. I saw the butterfly with white spots on my sleeve and thought, Oh, he was checking up on me. I’m okay. We’re okay.
I am nonreligious, but you find comfort in the unlikeliest of faiths.
Now reading Stephen King’s massive 11/22/63 and finding similarities with Joe Hill’s NOS4A2. Meanwhile, WIP clocking in at more than 14,000 words.
Also finished this:
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
This book is the equivalent of a summer flick – you enjoy the ride, enjoy the thrill and the twists and get really involved, screaming at the protagonist to get the gun GET THE GUN – and then promptly forget the story the moment you leave the cinema. That’s not to hit on the book, or the writing abilities of Ben H. Winters. Page-turners are fun (and really, notoriously hard to write). A quick, entertaining read can keep you company during a long trip. In fact, I bought this book for the sole purpose of having something light and easy to read over the weekend. Did it do its purpose? Yes. It was fun. It was gripping – up until the big reveal, when I raised an eyebrow and felt disappointed. Damn. It could have been so much better, if not for that.
Was it comparable to Rosemary’s Baby? No.
PS While reading it, I am reminded of Tana French’s amazing Broken Harbour. Instead of bedbugs, a couple is driven crazy by noises in the walls. The paranoia is handled more acutely in French’s book, I think.