R. Scott Bakker, The White-Luck Warrior (less than 100 pages to go).
David Foster Wallace, The Pale King (nearly 100 pages into roughly 550 pages)
Roberto Bolaño, Los sinsabores del verdadero policía (50 pages into 320 or so)
Tibor Moricz, O Peregrino (roughly 1/4 in)
Each and every one of these, in their own ways (none resemble the others in form or the stimuli each gives my imagination), are shaping up to be very enjoyable works. I promised Tibor a review last week and while sheer exhaustion kept me from reading it that weekend as I had hoped, I should have that review and the Bakker one up by Sunday, if not as earlier as Friday evening for the latter and Saturday for the former. The Wallace and Bolaño will be reviewed in the next week or so. There ought to be a lot of specifics in each review.
Excited, or just ho-humming it right about now while hoping that I'll review a Goodkind novel again?