Do you like to read lengthy novels, tomes that could double as a doorstop? Do you have the patience? Or do you prefer brief, pithy works that just get on with it and don't tease you along for four hundred pages before delivering a (sometimes unsatisfactory) conclusion? There's something to be said for both and I am on record as enjoying both the long and the short of it, when it comes to novels. I stand by that. The book I most recently finished, Nutshell by Ian McEwan, was a brief, polished gem, as most if not all of his books are. The one I'm reading now, In the Woods by Tana French, is more than twice its length, but just as polished in its own way. Every word counts. And that, in a nutshell (pardon the reference), is what I like in books: Every word needs to count. There should be no extraneous, superfluous meandering. Meandering is fine, but the writer needs to have an end in mind and know where she's taking us. I was led to consider this by reading a rece