Just finished yesterday, The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud.  I did enjoy it, though probably this book appeals only to a particular audience, that of the childless female not-working-as-an-artist type.  At least there wasn't some awful killing at the end, or such madness.

Now I'm possibly reading Virginia Woolf, Night and Day, if I do get a chance.  Have been enjoying the sentence construction, though have not gotten very far yet.  My return to reading has been populated with more contemporary stuff, so I'm not used to the lovely writing as much.  I think I will start reading older stuff for while.

In any case, Messud's book did make me recognize and realize that I ought to at least try making some art.  I'm so lazy, though, and overcome with housecleaning.  Actually, I have faith that I'll make at least one Christmas present.  It's only October!