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Three library holds came in yesterday, richness enough to hold me through the current 32C/90F humidices. Except I don't want to read any of them. One is the new Andrew Cartmel whose e-book version I sent back to the library after five pages, having forgotten that I'd also put a hold on the dead tree one. Cartmel's protagonists, of whichever sex, wear on me. Smart alec operators, morally dodgy, with none of the self-awareness that distinguishes that other morally dodgy smart alec operator, Moist von Lipwig. Or rather, Moist's creator knew what he is, and I'm not sure Cartmel either knows or cares about his own creations.

The other two are Hilary Tamars. I read one of the series before and for some reason the legal labyrinths didn't bother me in that one. But this one, oh dear. Three pages reviewing the set-up of a multi generational trust and already I want a famiy tree. I can't even keep the barristers straight, let alone their clients. I may not be able to read Caudwell any more than I can read Wodehouse. (I used to be able to read Wodehouse but now-- well, once again, his protagonists get on my nerves. I grow more and more curmudgeonly in my old age, at least where fictional people are concerned. )

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I love Tamar and other rather mannered writers like Wodehouse &c &c, but I really have to be in the right mood to enjoy them (knocked flat by heat and smoke and worrying about our sick cat is NOT the right mood. I've been doing almost nothing but rereads).

I'm finding it increasingly difficult to find novels that I enjoy.

It's the Bright Brainless Young Things in Wodehouse that put me off. With Tamar, it's literally the law, or rather the legalia. I am not with that guy in Doonesbury who yelled, 'God, I love the law!' It just hurts my head.

Your current situation doesn't allow for much beyond sheer Get Through It. Sympathy. Been there, done that, it sucks.

Light reading should provide enjoyment but sometimes it... doesn't.