Also finished reading Russell Hoban's The Lion of Boaz-Jachin and Jachin-Boaz, his 1973 debut adult trade novel. The writing was exquisite at the prose/line level, but the story couldn't decide what it wanted to be. What began as a sort of gentle fabulism eventually slid into arrant surrealism. Now, I happen to like (and sometimes write in) both those modes, and a story that is served by that kind of transition might do well under such a structure — perhaps a descent-into-madness tale, for example. But in the case of Lion, it felt disjointed to me, like a wandering away from the original intent of the book as telegraphed to the reader at the outset. Still, Hoban writes way prettier than me.
Making momos today for my family for Christmas, over at mom and dad's condo. Then we'll watch the ship parade after dusk with the kids (the_child and the Niece). The holidays are nigh.