Last time I was brave/stupid/aggressive enough to attend our town’s used book sale, I picked up this little gem of a book:
The Search for the Giant Squid: The Biology and Mythology of the World’s Most Elusive Sea Creature, by Richard Ellis.
If given the choice between fiction and non-fiction, I’ll almost always pick non-fiction. I like my novels really out there (Alice in Wonderland, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, and Life of Pi being some of my all time favorites) and would rather read a book about real people, places and things than a book about fake people, places and things doing things that real people, places, and things do.
Does that make sense? In my head it does, but when I read it back to myself, I sound just like Lloyd Dobler: