It's weird. I feel like I go through seasons of "intellectual" hunger and then of wanting to only read what's considered to be more superficial reading. At first, I was totally in love with books that had wordplay that would go into the nuances of language and culture with witty and self-deprecating characters (The Elegance of the Hedgehog) but now I'm all for the somewhat deep yet simple plots of The Mysterious Benedict Society. Maybe I just have too much going on in my life.
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Or perhaps I just needed to get into the swing of things. I still like The Elegance of the Hedgehog I've decided.
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