Can you smell the holidays and the new year just around the corner? If you can't smell 'em, another solid clue is all the "best of the year" lists that are starting to crop up everywhere, including this one.
That's right, it's Publishers Weekly's 100 Best Books of the Year. Now, I know as well as anyone that it's nigh impossible to even hear about one of these lists without being bowled over by the need to tally one's own score. You should find me easy to beat, what with my resounding count of ONE BOOK and all. What the hell have I been doing all year? I thought I'd been reading good stuff, but it seems that all my fine books have transmogrified into Huey, Dewey and Louie comics, for all the credit they're doing me.
Fortunately, Sam has saved me from utter disgrace. If it weren't for him, I never would have read the one book that made PW's list. And while it was okay, to my mind it doesn't hold a candle to Owen's Marshmallow Chick. I like Lilly, but she's a bit bossy for my taste. Owen, on the other hand? He's a simple mouse with a taste for candy -- in other words, my kind of fella.
I visited PW's "Talkback" forum, hoping for a lively (and by "lively" I mean "opinionated and snarky") debate, and I was sadly disappointed. We're just going to have to do our best over here.