30 pages. That's all that stands between me and the end of A Gentleman in Moscow. I feel a serious case of the book-ending blues coming on, folks. I've loved every sentence and am dreading the turning of that last page. So much so that I put it down in the middle of a seriously suspenseful scene to research my next read knowing it's gonna take something great to soften the blow. Looks like the book stars have aligned to serve up three new novels from authors I love:
I know, I know. You've all tired of me talking about Ove. Obviously, I'm thrilled to see Backman is back with And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer. This sentence alone makes me think I'm gonna love it: "Isn't that the best of all life's ages, an old man thinks as he looks at his grandchild, when a boy is just big enough to know how the world works but still young enough to refuse to accept it."