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I started At Home: A Short History of Private Life on the bus ride back from New York, and hot damn, why has no one told me how delightfully nerdy and etymological this book is before? I'm loving it. When I got too carsick to read on the bus, I switched to H is for Hawk on my headphones, and am loving the little I've listened to so far. And because I've been in the mood for something reflective and thoughtful, I'm finally, finally hoping to start When Women Were Birds this week. (Not pictured: I'm also starting The Blind Assassin for the revival of a mini-long-distance book club with a dear friend.)
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