Patricia Cornwell

is not obsessed with Jack the Ripper. (Link via Bookslut.)

In other news (someone asked me last week, in mild horror at the cumulative effect of my blog, "Do you ever read any news?" In fact, I do. Sometimes. When I have to. Just to say that I am aware of the impossible frivolity of my daily activities...), I did squeeze in a few novels over the weekend, purchased at the airport bookstore on my way to a bacchanalian wedding in Toronto: Zandru's Forge (which has pretty much the trashiest cover of any book I've read for a long time, it's one of these "co-authored" books, Deborah Ross taking up some material left unfinished by Marion Zimmer Bradley when she died--I do rather love those classic 1970s fantasy novels and this was pretty decent, but although I am shameless about my reading choices it makes me feel sheepish to be seen in public with a book that looks like this from the outside); and two Terry Pratchett ones I hadn't read before, Witches Abroad and Lords and Ladies. I always hit the sf/fantasy section in those rather pitiful airport bookstores: I've usually read almost all of the ones in the crime section already, at least the ones I have any interest in reading, and am more likely to discover something new and palatable and entertaining in the other.