but I probably won't finish it in time to discuss it. Ah, landscaping in the spring.

This is going to sound ridiculous, but there is something extraordinarily appealing about reading as a Russian describes winter. Of all the beautiful lines in this book, the descriptions of the winter landscapes are by far the most enchanting. I'm loving this work as much because of the pauses I accidentally take to reflect on his descriptions as anything else. In a very tenuously tangential way, it reminds me of Ian McEwan.

And that might be about all I'll be able to add, other than that reading a story with unusual names (from my pov) really slows me down. I have to stop each time and make sure I'm sounding them out appropriately. I didn't know I was so anal about that type of thing.