I don't remember the last book I read that was so full of foreboding.

This is beautifully written and totally wrong for me at the moment (too somber and contemplative, which is good, but not right now). I'm leaving it bedside and will return later. So as to avoid the pitfall of feeling like I have to start over, some notes to future self: You're on page 111. The elderly narrator finds himself living down the road from a man he knew as a child; his friend's younger brother (Lars) who one day accidentally shot his twin. Narrator is remembering: losing the friend, logging the property, seeing his father kissing the boys' mother, and much later losing his wife in a car accident you don't yet know anything about.

I picked this up again after a couple of weeks away from it and connected with it much better this time. So I'm sticking with it.

Started into this but it feels like a fall book to me. Might have to save it for later.