I Am The Messenger by Markus Zusak, on the plane ride out to Denver. Started it waiting to board, finished in somewhere over the midwest. I loved four-fifths of it, but just didn’t like the authorial insertion in the end.
After watching the debate last night and catching up on Fringe (is anyone else watchign that? What do we think about it?), I needed to do something that didn’t require all my attention, and allowed me to curl up in the armchair in Rexroth’s office under a handmade quilt. Tribute by Nora Roberts fit the bill perfectly.