Last night, I closed the gates on Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book, and headed straight into Vladimir Sorokin’s The Queue.  I felt sad after the bittersweet ending of the first book, so I needed something upbeat or quirky.  The Queue is composed entirely of one-liners from an assortment of characters in a seemingly never-ending line for god-knows-what in Soviet-era Moscow.  I’m still only 32 pages into it, but I’m riveted.  I thought it was going to be difficult to keep track of what’s going on and who’s saying what, but I actually found it easier to do the former once I stopped doing the latter.  And the fun part this evening?  I read about 20 pages of it while standing in a long line for the shuttle going home.  How’s that for a bit of life imitating art? 😀

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