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So having fibromyalgia means you have to get lots of rest. Not just sleeping but slowing down during the day and sitting or lying down; so I spend a lot of time on the couch with TV and books. Luckily, I have always loved both TV and books.

Agatha Christie is one of my favorite authors. Lately I’ve been reading her short stories because I’m short on time, but I managed to read Death on the Nile on vacation. I have read all of her mystery/thriller books at least twice. (Well, not Passenger to Frankfurt. That one I couldn’t finish. It was hopelessly muddled.) I know people criticize her work for the stereotypical characters (the Americans are usually chewing gum and they always have guns), the sometimes stilted dialogue and frequent lack of imagery and solid characterization, but the plots–the plots are what make her work worth it. And there are plenty of her books that are finely written (The Hollow/Murder After Hours is one). And some of her work is satisfyingly creepy–I can only read And Then There Were None in the daytime and only if someone else is home.

I am trying to collect some of the older paperbacks from the fifties and sixties because I love the artwork on the covers. Some of these older books are just for show on the bookshelf–newer editions are the reading copies that I can put through wear and tear.

These paperbacks are the reason I love real books and not digital ones. Look at how awesome these covers are–a nun with a hatchet! An Egyptian bust with a dagger and a scarab! (The best thing about the Egyptian cover is that nothing on the cover has anything to do with the stories in that book.)

There are other books I love, and I’ve read a few other authors so far this summer, but no one can compare with a good Christie mystery on a Sunday afternoon when I’m taking a rest break in the middle of my day

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