NBD

Like a child with a high time preference who desperately wants a marshmallow, I couldn’t wait. I finished Winslow’s Cartel Trilogy last night (read it!) and gave in. I was going to wait until I’d finished Slate Star Codex Abridged. I didn’t. Couldn’t. I caved and got myself five new Kindle reads. Hence; NBD.

New. Book. Day.

I’m still making my way through the Little Black Classics–most recently, number thirteen, John Keats–but I prefer to read these slowly, on empty mornings. Unfortunately, due to a mixture of internally and externally imposed constraints, these are not particularly regular. So, to supplement the LBCs and SSCA, I have:

• The Logician and the Engineer by Paul Nahin:
  The tale of Claude Shannon and George Boole. Meant to provide some historical context to the Fundamentals of Computing course I’m taking, as well as help me more fully understand Boolean logic and the boring edge.
• Winner Takes All by Anand Giriharadas:
  Recommended by a friend. I’m expecting more than a tract against wealth inequality and exploitation, however. I’m looking for some insight into the mechanisms of these undeniable properties of modern society.
• Death in Spring by Merce Rodoreda:
  Coming off Winslow’s trilogy, I wanted something less epic but with a similar intensity. A smaller story. This seems to be that. I don’t know much about 1920s Catalan, nor what it is like to come of age there. But by all accounts, Rodoreda is rated an incredible guide.
• Cage of Souls by Adrian Tchaikovsky:
  I’ve read both Children of Time and Children of Ruin. Both were exquisite, which means my expectations are high for Cage of Souls. Set on a dying, decaying, desolate Earth, it’s a story of humanity.
• Weird of Hali I: Innsmouth by John Michael Greer:
  Fantasy is perhaps my favourite genre. And who better to write it than an actual scholar of magic and the occult. Disclosure: I have no idea what to expect beyond elements of Lovecraftian horror.

At times, it feels like the practice of reading is hard-coded into my DNA. Books–or, more accurately, the people that write them–have given me so much. Changed me in countless, incomprehensible ways. I have faith that the above will continue to catalyse my ongoing, never-ending metamorphosis…