Here is how I knew I was sick. I was lying in bed watching Sesame Street. And my 14 year old, my 12 year old and my almost 8 year old were watching it too. And I didn't care. It seemed like a reasonable way to pass the rest of our lives. Sesame Street was actually the viewing highlight, which at the time didn't bother me but in retrospect I find depressing.
Once I'd hauled myself off to the doctor's for an industrial strength antibiotic - the kind that requires permission from the capital - I improved sufficiently to remember books.
Here are the books I read. They have no complex commentary because I don't want to be out of bed that long.
Shadow Tag by Louise Erdrich. Awesome if you like art and crumbling marriages in your novels, and I do.
Secret Smile by Nicci French. Lame but better than kids TV.
The Little Women Letters by Gabrielle Donnelly. Great-great grandaughter of Jo discovers letters in the attic. Silly but diverting.
A Day in The Life of a Smiling Woman by Margaret Drabble. Short stories. Depressing.
Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro. Very readable . And that isn't meant to be faint praise. Awesome if you like restraint combined with weird in your novels, which I do.
All That I Am by Anna Funder. A desperation read which I found surprisingly good. German refugees between the wars. Spies. Bravery. Etc.