Recently read another I.B. Singerl--Enemies, A Love Story. Although the read didn't leave me feeling shook up as some of Singer's other books, it is a gem--a genuine tale of human endurance, of pain, bitterness, need, and futility. I have just begun Nabokov's Mary, I think one of his less-known works. It is a little book, and his first novel, and I picked it up because few writers are as exhilirating as Nabokov--his incredible use of language and a wonderfully sinister sense of humor make his books truly delightful, to me. I also managed to convince a friend to read Andrew Sean Greer's recently published novel Confessions of Max Tivoli, a splendidly imaginative work of fiction that, despite evidence of an amateurish pen, won me over.