I stayed up until almost 2 a.m. last night because I was SO CLOSE to the end of my book I could not bear to put it down before I was finished. Reading in bed never puts me to sleep, quite the contrary, it usually wakes me up, and even when my eyes are blurring and gritty with fatigue I have to literally force mysefl to STOP ALREADY and turn out the light.
I’ve been reading Dorothy Dunnett’s Lymond Chronicles, as I’ve mentioned before, and have been totally floored by how incredibly mesmerising they are. Set in 16th century Scotland and spanning the whole of European politics and pageanty and written in a style that is certainly not for everyone, the 6-book series wrapped up with such a satisfying finale that I found myself quite unable to think of anything else today, and am having to squelch the urge to start over from the beginning. Now that I know the secret I suspect I will find much pleasure reveling in all the hints and subtle clues that are placed piece by unpredictable piece throughout the books. Each volume stands on its own, but they build on each other so carefully and thoroughly and they bring one breathlessly galloping headlong to the denouement that it’s actually painful, if exhilarating, that the final page has been turned.
I wonder if her other 6-book series is as good. I wonder why it took me so long to discover her writing to begin with. I wonder why no one has ever made a movie or mini-series from these books. I wonder why she didn’t write more books. I wonder what would have happened next to the characters I have been so engrossed in, so interested in, for so long. I wonder what I should read next. I wonder why I can’t just spend all my time reading.