You’d think, what with being the wrybrarian and all, that I’d have a houseful of books. But actually, my collection is neatly organized – by subject matter – on just one bookshelf. Only three of which comprise actual reading (the other two are dedicated to craft reference, writing reference and magazines).

How do I manage, you ask? It’s easy. I only keep books that truly move me (and anything with sentimental value). And when I read a new book I love, I force myself to make way for it by passing one of the bookshelf books along. My point is, it’s not often that a book makes its way to the hallowed grounds of The Shelf. But I just shoved a couple of copies to the side to make room for Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go.

It’s the sad and creepy tale of a group of kids who grow up in a special boarding school, where they’re raised to contribute to society. How they contribute isn’t revealed until about midway through, but you can guess pretty early. It’s just a really sad and tense read, which would normally be something I hate, but in the case, I couldn’t put it down without finishing. And I didn’t even sneak a look at the last page.