I scour my library for small books

Unlike the last entry, which virtually no one read, this entry won’t consist of a long quotation – nor of a long anything. I don’t have time to write; I need every spare moment to pursue my reading goals.

Once again, I arrive at the finish line reading works so puny that they hardly deserve to be called books:

Some Chinese Ghosts, by Lafcadio Hearn;

Night Flight, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry;

Mrs Henderson & Other Stories, by Francis Wyndham.

This is the first Hearn I’ve read. Three ghost stories so far. Ornate. Determinedly unhorrific. Every ghost is a pretty girl.

[UPDATE: In the fourth story, the ghost is not a pretty girl.]

Mrs Henderson is very good. Try it out.

The writing in Chinese Ghosts and Mrs Henderson is so careful, so exquisite, it’s taking me some time to get through them.

Mercifully, Chinese Ghosts has lots of Chinese words that I just skip over.

Daniel and Samuel had doctor’s appointments this week.

Samuel is “socially behind,” the doctor said. Probably because he bawled his head off when she was in the office with him. He was sociable enough when she was away.

Daniel is quite the growing boy. Today he ate and ate, and he cried when he wasn’t eating.