I am reading a great thriller, Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn. I am listening to it on CD and it’s so good that when I thought I’d guessed the killer, I had to run to the bookstore and skim the rest of the book to confirm my suspicions. I was right.

When I figured it out (in a hazy half-dream state, in the middle of the night), I got a nasty visceral jolt. Yowza.


Sharp Objects
is about the damage a dangerously narcissistic mother inflicts on her children. It’s not the kind of book just anybody might enjoy. Exercise caution. Read at your own risk.