In a nutshell: Too much James Bond thanks to the reissued box sets with all the wonderful actors reading the sometimes less than wonderful works of Ian Fleming. And a major discovery, Karl-Ove Knausgard. Who you may or may not like, no guarantees.
Ian Fleming: From Russia, with Love. Not bad. About average.
Karl Ove Knausgård: Sterben. Takes some getting into but then you can’t put it away. Really strong stuff.
Ian Fleming: Dr. No. Pretty good. Above average.
Lili Gruber: Ereditá. Really interesting.
Blair Tindall: Mozart in the Jungle. Plenty interesting but could have been so much more.
Ian Fleming: Goldfinger. A pleasant surprise. Way above average.
Clayton M. Christensen: How Will You Measure Your Life? Not bad not great not mandatory.
Ben Horowitz: The Hard Thing About Hard Things. Now this is spot-on. And well written.
David Walsh: Seven Deadly Sins. This never gets boring. What drama.
Antonio Tabucchi: Die Zeit altert schnell. Eine schöne Entdeckung. Davon sollte man noch mehr lesen.
Jim Bouton: Ball Four. Of course very interesting. But soooo long.
Karl Ove Knausgård: Lieben. Addictive. It’s the reward you get for being brave enough to make it through the first volume.
Ian Fleming: The Man with the Golden Gun. Crap.
Julia Angwin: Dragnet Nation. Better than expected. Well worth it.
William: Shakespeare: The Winter’s Tale. Weird and flawed. Subpar.
Ian Fleming: You Only Live Twice. Slightly above average. And now enough with these books.
Karl Ove Knausgård: Spielen. More of the same. Which is good. Keep it coming. If only the translators were a little faster.
olivergajek 