My reading continues to astonish me in its volume, but at least the books are getting smaller. I had again run out when Mum and Dad arrived, but they brought two books with them for me, and on the same day a package from Sandy arrived with another. The first from Mum and Dad was The Outsider, by Albert Camus.

Reading this book broke a rule I had made myself, because its real name is L'Étranger, and it was originally published in french, Camus being of French-Algerian descent. I always, always prefer to read a book or (more commonly) see a film in its original language, and this was particularly so when, only a few pages into the book, I realised just how many colloquialims it used. Still, the alternative was learning a lot more French, and not having anything to read, so I read it. Its a good book, but I personally couldn't consider it great. Although I could relate to the central character, the driving opinion of the book was, for me, not strong enough to be compelling. Still, its pretty good and, if the translation is to be believed, very well written.