Things Fall Apart makes the sixth novel I've finished so far this year. Fully half the number of books I usually manage to read in a year. I'd forgotten how much fiction reminds me of being 12 years old, burrowed under the covers of my bed, devouring novels as if starved for words.
So far I've been to New York, to an English Wonderland, to Russia, to Algiers, along the Eastern seaboard, to Nigeria, and am now back to medieval Japan. Medieval Japan in the evenings, mathematics in the morning, elbow deep in plant science all the minutes between, and constantly hungry. Always, always hungry.
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