I’ve read a lot of dross lately – my kindle seems to facilitate the buying of dross, via the algorithms I’m subject to but also, no doubt, due to my own inertia. But a while back I bought Mr. American by George MacDonald Fraser, author of the Flashman series and the excellent war memoir Quartered Safe Out Here. I began reading it last night.

Immediately I knew I was in the hands of a real storyteller. It felt like climbing into bed and snuggling beneath a heavy quilt on a cold stormy night. I felt safe. Reading this lays bare my taste for cheap thrillers as junk food for the mind. I should make an effort to read more stuff like this.

I probably won’t.

But I’ll make an effort to change my ways.