Earlier this fall I read The Physician. It was one of those books that I plunged way down into, one of those books where I had to make myself come up for air. Maybe there were some inaccuracies, maybe it was a little weird to be so invested in a story of medieval medical practice, but I loved it.
It's the first in a trilogy, and I dove right into the second book. As it progressed, I liked it less and less, and then still less. But I had really loved the first one, so I read the third one. OH MY WORD did I dislike it. It made me wonder what I had failed to observe in the first one, because how could it not be similarly flawed? (Does that logic make sense to anyone but me? It makes sense to me.)
I haven't really wanted to read fiction since then -- too disgruntled, I guess. Maybe I need a really good book to pull me out of my disgruntlement. What should it be?