zeekie: take two.

I've been reading Ian McEwan's "On Chesil Beach" in fits and starts, and when I woke up this morning I took it up to finish the final stretch. Maybe it's because I have a hardcover copy, and removed the jacket when I bought it, or maybe it's because the final fifth of the book is so godawfully depressing in that lost opportunities-way, but somewhere along the line it was fixed in my mind that I was reading a Kazuo Ishiguro book. It was somewhat of a surprise to turn to the final appendix pages and read the initials "IM". Talk about cognitive dissonance.