Do you ever suffer from a book hangover? Like, you literally cannot focus on anything else because this dear author had decided to wreak havoc inside your head? Last night I finished The Dinner by Herman Koch and I seriously don’t know what to make of anything right now. It was disturbing but in such an original way. It was a psychological thriller but again, something very different from the usual fares. It didn’t follow any rules of conventional good writing: the entire book happens over a dinner, the book is filled with back stories, is terribly dark, and it deals with an unreliable narrator and yet its brilliance leaves you blindsided. So, while I’d decided that I’d either read the new Murakami or the book on Rome by Anthony Doerr next (both of which are sitting on my Kindle right now), what do I do instead? Of course, I get my grubby paws on Herman Koch’s next book, Dear Mr. M!