I am just back from a trip to Half-Price Books. Let me grab the first book off my pile of purchases and copy the first line. It is from Kiran Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss:
“All day, the colors had been those of dusk, mist moving like a water creature across the great flanks of mountains possessed of ocean shadows and depths. Briefly above the vapor, Kanchenjunga was a far peak whittled out of ice, gathering the last of the light, a plume of snow blown high by the winds at its summit.”
What description! I can hardly wait to begin this one.

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