Fortress of Muggitude

I don't usually use this forum to promote books or movies or anything else pop-culturey (except for gushing on about a good band occasionally) BUT, I'm reading an amazing book right now. I can't stop thinking about it, and therefore I have to write about it. "Fortress of Solitude" by Jonathan Letham is an extremely well written, moving story, and I'm not just saying that because it takes place on my block in Brooklyn (although that certainly adds to the appeal). Here is proof of how good the book is:

Let me start by saying that the weather in New York has vastly improved since I wrote about the heat. A few thunderstorms late last week broke the unbearability (not a word apparently, but it should be) and made the weather, well, bearable. It's still warm, but it barely breaks the 80's (as opposed to the Bay Area which I hear got hit with temperatures in the 100's, how's that for irony.)

What has not improved, however, is the weather underground. The subway stations still contain the same hot, dead air that entered them during the heat wave and is apparently refusing to leave. Boarding an air-conditioned train after standing on the stifling platform as relieving as peeing after holding it for hours.

Today at lunch I took the train down to the financial district .. On the way back, it took forever for the uptown 3 train to come. On hot subway station time, forever equals about eight minutes. Within these eight minutes, beads of sweat had already pooled in all the areas of my body where they like to pool - between my nose and my lip, under my arms, in a line down the middle of my chest. The train finally arrived, bringing with it the promise of cool air, and more importantly, a seat in which to relax and read my book. This I did, grateful for this momentary escape.

Eleven minutes and half a chapter later, I was back at the hustle and bustle of Penn Station, the stop near my office. Reluctantly, I exited the train mid-chapter, but I couldn't bring myself to walk up the stairs. In an act that shocked all those in Penn Station, including myself, I turned and sat on the bench on the platform. I finished the last three pages of chapter 18 of "Fortress of Solitude" in the heat. In the mugginess. In the foul stench that is Penn Station Platform 3. Because that, my friends, THAT is how fucking good this book is.