I finished the @#$% book.

I feel as if I had pulled a dogsled from Anchorage to Dallas. Using my teeth. Or as if I'd had my brain extracted by way of my right ear.

I just finished listening to all 31 hours and 15 minutes of The Mysteries of Udolpho. I'm stubborn, and I finished it, and someday I want to give Jane Austen a list of some of *my* favorite writers. Orson Scott Card or Robert B. Parker or Anne Lamott (after handing Ms Jane a vial of smelling salts for some of the language that Anne Lamott uses).

I will say that the narrator was absolutely brilliant, and I'd listen to her (Alison Larkin) again.

Your mileage may vary. I'm making a beeline for my jar of Nutella.