Last night I was grousing to the Mrs. about how long it takes books I want to read to come out (yes, naturally it started as a gripe about George R.R. Martin) but I also then went on to gripe about Patrick Rothfuss, who took 4 years between his first and second book in the Kingkiller Chronicle so if the pattern holds the third book won't come out until 2015. I had said how frustrating that was, when we so enjoyed the first two.
She didn't remember the books. I said, "you remember, they were about Kvothe? Kvothe the kingkiller? Kvothe the bloodless? He was born a gypsy, finagled his way into this academy, he.."
Her: (blank look)
Me: "Ok, different approach... (describes what I remember of the sex scenes)"
Her: "Ohhh right, I remember now!"
It occured to me that the most distinguishing characteristic to the little woman about the books I read to her... the parts that stick with her and separate one book from another... are the sexy bits.
Maybe I'm shopping at entirely the wrong bookstores.