in the last three monthes, i read another novel by Yoko Ogawa (Le Musée du Silence);
two books by Julia Kerninon (Buvard et Une activité respectable) which is my new favorite living author;
a few short stories from DFW's Oblivion: stories (which needs to be planned beforehand because one can't really pause in the middle of reading, lest lots of details are lost from the short term memory of the reader (ain't it somehow what that book is about?));
loved the clarity, tragedy and despair of The Man Who Spoke Snakish by Andrus Kivirähk;
started reading an edition of the Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa (the ratio of invoked thoughts and inner landscape wandering / page is so high i have to read it no more than one or two fragments every other day, and even so i fear i will get to the end too soon);
enjoyed Luciano Berio's Remembering the Future,
did a fast ride through the West with James Crumley's The Last Good Kiss,
and started a two thousand pages chronological collection of the works of Antonin Artaud.
I also wanted to re-read Islands in the Net (Bruce Sterling) but the french translation struck me at being not so good so i guess i'll wait to stumble upon an english edition (or maybe i simply got too used to excellent writers (i just had remorse to write that, implying Sterling's style was bad, so i googled and found the first chapter online : It's definitely a translation problem)).