I was supposed to be making Easter dinner.
I was supposed to be cleaning the house and preparing for houseguests and being a good host.
Then I picked up this book. I rescheduled pretty much everything, because there was, simply, no way in hell I was going to stop reading for something as silly as eating. Or bathing. Or feeding my family.
It’s the ultimate journey in meta. It’s a book about books about books. It has everything for the slightly nerdy connoisseur: cults, bookstores, cryptography, architecture, typography, mystery, roleplaying games, programming, and characters, even the ones who walk on for a small speaking role and then walk off again, who you want to chase after and have a sit-down with to talk about what they were just talking about. It’s a book about the mystery of a book. About the key to immortality.
I found myself wanting to dog-ear every second page because Robin Sloan‘s language is at once engaging and hilarious and absolutely poetic. He has a rhythm that you can’t help but be drawn into. But best of all, he is a master – a MASTER – storyteller.
Here’s the worst part of this book: my family is hungry, I haven’t showered in two days, and I’m starting the book all over again. I was going to give it to my teenager to read (we share most books), but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll just have to buy him his own copy, because nobody’s getting this one.