Guilty pleasures

I've set myself a target of reading at least two books a week this year, and so far I'm doing okay, although I did cheat and read Hemingway's Old Man And The Sea, which is only 100 pages. That was a trippy book, not helped by the head cold that had struck me at the time, which threatened to liquidise my brains.

To compensate for that book's short stature, I'm reading my second Lee Child book in a fortnight ('61 Hours' if anyone cares). This one is 500 pages, while his other ('Gone Tomorrow') was around 550.

Despite the thickness, I'm ploughing through them like a tramp through White Lightning. They're so damn easy to read, and actually quite enjoyable. Main hero Jack Reacher (what is it with action heroes called Jack these days?) is likeable, in a don't-f**k-with-him-or-you'll-be-eating-your-own-arse kind of way. The plots are silly but fun, and Child does a good job of withholding information to build suspense.

Plus it never gets boring reading about dumb-ass terrorists having their skulls splintered apart.