I spent the entire week printing out stuff about Michael Jackson to read. I love the commentary from Gawker, and the some of the outstanding journalism by Maureen Orth. I'm agog at all the details that are now surfacing in the wake of his dramatic death. Michael Jackson was undoubtedly talented, and his life tragic, but how very fascinting the gory, mind-boggling details! I'm ghoulishly riveted by his marriages to both Lisa Marie Presley and Debbie Rowe, the nature and nurture of his three shrouded kids, and his alleged lovers. Aren't you? I'm sure there are many more skeletons in his capacious closet. Drool.
B from the office lent me David Sedaris's Naked. I actually really wanted Me Talk Pretty One Day but he said he couldn't lend that to me as it was inscribed with a very personal message. He didn't want me to read it, I wonder why? And even though I assured him at length about how I wouldn't read that personal message, he still wouldn't bring me the book, which makes me very curious what that inscription would say. I got interested in David Sedaris only recently because I'd read one of his short pieces in The New Yorker, which was side-splittingly funny. I'd seen his books around, but always assumed he was one of those silly gay writers, so have never been tempted to picked any up.
I hope I won't be disappointed. A quick skim through hasn't been promising, to be honest.
Also, I did finally nip (positively holding my beath, as so many coughing and sneezing - they can't ALL be suffering from sinus right?) into Kino and bought Tash Aw's second novel Map of the Invisible World. I'm hoping this would be as good as Harmony Silk Factory, which I really liked.