I keep running out of books.
I know, I know, I'm supposed to be writing a book, not reading them, and I am.
I will be.
I'm just getting my thoughts together.
But there must be time for, ahh, inspiration and refueling. And I keep running out of material with all this constant train travel.
This is how I allowed myself to be sucked into AravindAdiga's latest vortex of despair, which I bought because a) its cover made it look like a fun adventure story, b) there was no description of the plot on the back, just review quotes, and c) I thought I should read more Indian authors while I'm in India.
Last Man in Tower is about how a bunch of ordinary people work themselves up to the decision to throw one of their neighbors off an upper-story balcony for a bunch of money.
I don't care if I just gave away the ending. If you are now discouraged from reading it, good. I have saved you untold grief.