I am reading Ann Patchett’s newest novel right now, and I wish I didn’t have to work or sleep so I could just read straight through. I’m here writing to keep myself from opening it before work. I don’t want to have to wrench myself away.

Patchett is one of those novelists that I’ll read everything she writes. I click with her characters—I love Eddie in Whistler, as everyone in the book does as well—and how beautifully she exposes the hearts of humans, and the intricacies of our relationships with one another, with family, with children and parents and lovers and friends. She doesn’t create cheap drama. Bel Canto is a marvel.

I’ve managed to stretch Whistler over three days so far. I’ve now succeeded in holding myself back from opening it before work. I don’t think I’ll be as successful on my lunch break.