More proof that these books are addictive: the other night, I went out and bought Six (secondhand, admittedly, but the principle is the same) rather than simply waiting for it to come on shelf at any one of the numerous public libraries to which I have access. Self control bad, instant gratification oh so good.
Also, evidence that these books are a bad influence on me: today, strolling down Hoddle St around 1ish with the intention of getting lunch on Bridge Rd, not thinking about anything in particular but vaguely musing about the use of the first person voice in literature (in particular re: Murakami and The Great Gatsby) - ie, normal appropriate good thoughts for me to be having - when I went past Hungry Jacks and suddenly thought that maybe I should just eat there instead (justifying it by reflecting that it'd be an appropriate place to be reading the further adventures of Stephanie Plum), and so I did. Hella incongruous with most everything else about me and my lifestyle, but what can you do? Never let it be said that popular fiction can't be a powerful force.
So evidently I'm still enjoying these, and I still get at least a few laugh-out-louds per book. Things continue to move forward between Stephanie and both Morelli and Ranger, and the new characters are all good in their own ways (Habib and Mitchell are two of Evanovich's funniest bit part creations); running jokes, rather than getting old, often amuse more as Evanovich finds new inventive ways to, for example, get Stephanie handcuffed to various objects or have cars blown up in the bounty hunter's vicinity (usually though not always her own).
