Too little sleep, and WAY too little coffee...

I couldn't sleep last night. I went through my normal bedtime routine and slid between the sheets where DH was already fast asleep. Beyond tired, I hunkered into the blankets, snuggled with my lion, and grabbed my book. I'm reading Daniel Silva's Prince of Fire, which I bought ages ago yet haven't managed to read. All the books in my TBR pile were pushed aside because I feel my reading selection has been one-sided. Heavy on romance with a sprinkling of fantasy--Piers Anthony to be exact.

Back to Mr. Silva. This book is another Gabriel Allon adventure, complete with tense action, rapid changes in scenery, a fistful of love story and a dash of humor. I didn't want to put the book down. When I peered over the edge to look at the clock and read 3:03am, I thought about closing it and going to sleep. Then I convinced myself to read one chapter more, which quickly turned into three. There are intermediary scenes in the story that made me laugh out loud. Good thing DH is a sound sleeper.

Gabriel assumed an identity as part of his mission. This pseudo-character was a combination (in my mind) of Lionel Hardcastle, Basil Fawlty and Diana Trent. If you don't recognize the names, please don't feel bad. They are favorites from the Britcoms I watch on occasion--As Time Goes By, Fawlty Towers, and Waiting for God. He was larger-than-life with his attitude and demands, but that was his purpose. To be someone so memorable that the other characters forgot to be watchful, forgot that Gabriel Allon was out there trying to put the kibosh on their plans. What a brilliant tactic!

Gosh, I wanted to ask Daniel Silva so many questions. Is he a Beeb lover like me? Did he create that particular persona based on someone he knows, or was he the manifestation of a dream? I am constantly in awe of authors who seemingly have it all together. A tight story, fantastic hooks that draw the reader from sentence to sentence, scene to scene. And the intelligence that leaps from the page. Sometimes I wonder what exactly I'm playing at by masquerading as one of them-- a real writer. If only you and your mom think you're funny, I don't think it counts. Insert any adjective for funny there.

So what is it that draws me to his books time and again? And what makes his work different from that which I'd be more inclined to leave on the bookshelf than actually read?

I don't know...Well, maybe I know a little.

My Dad bought lots of the Reader's Digest Condensed version books. I LOVE them, by the way, because it is such an effective way for a person like me to sample various works by various artists. Because I grew up with those books, when I moved out, I bought them too. In one of the first volumes I received, Daniel Silva's Unlikely Spy was a featured story. I was bored one day and began perusing my bookshelves, and for some reason, that book jumped out at me. There was no chorus of angels or ray from the heavens, but I knew I had to read that story. I was hooked. I went to the library and checked out everything they had from this phenomenal author.

When I read his books, I'm immediately transported to lands I only know of from ancient holy books and what I may catch on the World News. He makes them real--reminds me of the people who live half a world away who have family, careers, aspirations and far-out dreams just like me. It is so easy to remain tightly locked behind an isolationist bubble. So through these books, I not only see Jerusalem, the South of France, a centuries old chapel nestled in a small Italian village, but he allows me to feel the swirling dust kicked up by a convoy of armored jeeps. I taste the wine, smell the cigarettes outside an intimate cafe. That is why I read his books. He takes me someplace I've never been. Plus, who wouldn't want to be a spy? Spy guys get all the hot chicks, and spy gals have the best wardrobes.

What will I read after this? Who knows. Hope I figure it out soon because this book won't last through the night and I'll need a diversion. I started this blog whining because I didn't sleep last night. Truth be told, I got about 45 minutes of sleep and am seriously considering going right back to bed. Why couldn't I sleep, you ask? Because I was too hopped up from reading Prince of Fire. Because I drank coffee before I went to sleep, which doesn't usually affect me. Because of the raging heartburn I got from drinking the coffee I shouldn't have right before bed. Such is life. Gotta make pizza crust for dinner. I'll let everyone dress their own, but my dough must rest. And I know what I'm going to read when this book is finished. My backlog of critiques and contest entries.