The Alienist

When I started this new job, I looked forward to the idea of riding the train into the city*. I figured I could sleep if I had to, or at least disconnect my brain enough to let it roam around sorting out loose thoughts that hadn't quite been settled by REM sleep. In the event I felt awake, I would be able to knit, so long as I kept the project either relatively small or settled on circular needles. I've since done some knitting on the train- but only some. I've mostly been reading. Thus far I've finished The Man of Bronze and almost finished The Land of Terror, and I've reread A Princess of Mars twice, mostly because my copy fits in my purse. There's been some magazine reading, too, but that hardly counts. Today, though, I finally finished a book I started on the train ride home this past Tuesday: Caleb Carr's The Alienist.

( No spoilers, but after a paragraph or two about the book, this turns into psychological analysis. Mostly of me. Y'all be warned. )