This past week me and the Little have been hanging out at Nana and Grandpapa's house while the hubby's been a counselor at camp. It's been a great kind of vacation -- lots of just hanging out, playing, and reading. Even though I've been doing a little bit of work, and of course taking care of the Little, there's no housework or cooking or life stuff hanging over my head (now, when we get back...that's another story. Three words: packing and moving). So I managed to breeze my way through The Silkworm, by Robert Galbraith (a.k.a. J.K. Rowling) in a way that is reminiscent of "previously." It's been a nice breather, and a reminder that it is possible to find time to read with a new baby...you just have to make that choice and adjust your expectations -- it is less time, after all. (there was a great post on Book Riot about this a few weeks ago).
Anyway, The Silkworm was another solid installment in Galbraith/Rowling's new detective series. It was almost too gory for me, but not so much that I couldn't keep reading. Another tight plot, character growth, and more of Rowling's brilliant descriptions (you meant I'm not in London in the middle of winter? Darn it). That woman knows how to turn a phrase.