Still revisting my youth. Finished rereading David Gerrold's The Man Who Folded Himself, which was a strange experience. Apparently he's revised the novel to reflect things that have changed since he first wrote it, which would be completely ridiculous in any other novel, but with this one, it adds to the unreality of it all. Still a ridiculous practice if you ask me; one that shows not even the author takes this stuff seriously. As many times as I've recommended this book in the past, I can no longer do so. But take that as an 'old and cranky' comment.
Now reading Terry Brooks' Sword of Shanarra, or should I say trying to. A couple of hundred pages in, I'm finding this to be somewhat tedious, and the level of Brook's craft is not what I remember. My guess is this one won't be finished.