This week’s trip to the library netted me three titles: Philip Roth’s The Human Stain, Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, and Arturo Pérez-Reverte’s The Club Dumas. I’m not sure which one to start. It’s been a long time since I’ve read Brave New World—so long, in fact, that I barely remember reading it the first time around—so I’m tempted to start that one. But the other two look good as well.

I’ve come to the conclusion that picking a book to read is kind of like picking a new girlfriend (or boyfriend, if you’re so inclined): there are a lot of good-looking titles out there, but it doesn’t always work out. And if the book is bad enough, the break-up can leave a bitter aftertaste. In my case, though, I don’t really know when to quit, so I suppose some of the fault lies with me. After all, no one forced me to finish Louisa May Alcott’s A Long Fatal Love Chase. But maybe I’m just an optimist when it comes to reading; I always hold out the hope that a bad relationship will somehow redeem itself.