Nothing like a good Terry Pratchett novel when you have a cold. Carpe Jugulum is one of the better ones in the Witches series, as a family of modern, forward thinking 'vampyres' try to take over Lancre. There is humor (of course), tension, and more than the usual helping of Granny Weatherwax's brutally realistic philosophy.

"The Unites States fought three wars after 9/11: Iraq, Afghanistan, and the one in the shadows."

So reads the blurb on the back of this book, and it's true, to a degree. In the wake of 9/11, America proved totally unable to pursue Al Qaeda, with a CIA averse to covert operations, and a special forces culture that trained for high-stakes rescue missions. The new war required human intelligence gathering in some of the most hostile corners of the world, and soon developed a system of secret prisons, 'enhanced interrogations', and long-distance drone assassinations. Neither the military nor the CIA was set up to do this, but they soon adapted and evolved.

This book isn't so much about America's shadow wars: the renditions, drone strikes, and secret armies, as it is about who would get to wield the knife. Mazzetti goes into the byzantine conflicts between the Pentagon, the CIA, State, the White House, private military contractors, and the whole weird menagerie of Beltway counter-terrorism experts. The dsyfunctional relationship with Pakistan is a second focus of the book, and the failure of the American relationship with the ISI, culminating in Admiral Mike Mullen's public declaration that the ISI supported terrorist attacks against American troops.

Mazzetti is too much of the professional reporter to make judgement, but he clearly feels that the duplication of effort between the CIA and JSOC has harmed American interests, and that the entire secret war exists on shaky legal and ethical grounds. The pragmatic question: what form should American engagement with this part of the world take? goes unanswered. I've heard it said that journalism is history's first draft, and this topic definitely deserves further study. But in the the here and now, this is the best book about what actually happened after 9/11.

This is definitely someone's dissertation, with all of the weight that that entails. The first few chapters, on STS and feminist theory, do an admirable job surveying deep and complicated fields. Thompson is deeply knowledgable about reproductive technology, both as an ethnographic investigator in clinics, and as someone who conceived via ART. She walks the delicate line between the personal and the objective. That said, the writing is dense for no other reason than density, "ontological choreography" (whatever it is) is overkill for this work. I wanted to sit her down and ask "What does this all mean in words of no more than 2-syllables?" Alas, no luck.

The first story in "Wool" caused such a demand that the rest were published in 6 months. The first story is stark, claustrophobic, alluding to the vast genre of post-apocalyptic fiction without being derivative of it. Unfortunately, the next four volumes don't quite hold up to that level of narrative richness. As the society of the Silo is mapped out, and its secrets revealed, the mystery vanishes and the straight-forward problem-solving that's left is quite enough to compensate for the generic quality of the characters, and the well-trodden 'Vault Revolt' story. A fun read and a good yarn, but one that doesn't quite live up to its initial potential.

This is a solid academic study of one of the most important parts of American disability policy, Supplemental Security Income. SSI is the single largest disability program in people served and money spent, but aside from a 2013 NPR special report, is substantially underrepresented. Erkulwater tracks the growth of SSI from an afterthought in the Great Society to a cornerstone of the social safety net, contrasting the realities of bureaucratic standardization against evolving medical knowledge, Rights based arguments, and longstanding American political conflicts over care for the 'deserving poor' as opposed to 'dependent bums'. I can't imagine reading this book for pleasure, but it's a strong overview of the policy arena.

I was disappointed that this book wasn't written by Liz Lemon. Yes, I know, stupid and silly. This is an okay book, about perfect to read on an airplane. A little funny, a little insightful, and about Tina Fey (who I love, despite not being Liz Lemon). So yeah, read it if you want a quick distraction and can pick it up on sale.

There's a reason why this book is a defining classic of the genre. TTSS moves at a stately pace in a mole hunt inspired by the real-world escapades of the Cambridge 5. What makes this book shine is the painterly attention to detail, the way that Le Carre crafts 1970s England, and the strange and insular world of the professional spy. For George Smiley and others of his ilk, the world is full of hidden signs, dead drops, patterns of travel and communication. A beautiful and ambiguous book.

Where The Innovator's Dilemma was about theory, this is about implementation-a recipe for managers looking to lead successful companies. Christensen admirably tackles the complex problem of guiding a company though times of disruption. There's a lot here, but the essence is that if you want to succeed, start with an idea that is somewhat profitable and go after customers who are under-served, either because no product exists that fits their needs, or they're the least profitable segment of an established market. If you want to make a lot of money, you need to have a product that is "not-yet-good-enough" so that your firm can compete on quality and innovation as opposed to cost.

Christensen advises against purely causal management-picking executive who have succeeded before or following the latest reorganization fad. He is particularly opposed to 'focusing on our core competencies' as the kind of accounting trick that hollows out a company over the long term. The kind of foresight required to move towards where the market is going rather than where's it been isn't easy to acquire, the insight and flexibility needed to switch strategies in midstream is even harder to find, but Christensen makes a compelling argument that good management is possible.

King Rat is some rough going at first as Mieville is finding his voice, but about halfway through something happens, the pieces lock together, and the end result is a creative and compelling urban fantasy. But not the kind of crap put together for people who need to leaven their BDSM with vampires--King Rat is about concrete, hidden geometries, rough edges and rudeboys. The classic fairy tale which forms its mythology dances right along the edge of being too precious, but in the end it works.

This is a first novel, and there are some rough edges, particularly in how Mieville writes physical action, but overall its a fun read.

Adriana Petryna investigates the strange world of out-sourced clinical trials, and the effects on medicine when trials are being scheduled beyond most oversight, and advanced medical care is available only by become a guinea pig. Petryna's questions are fascinating, and her research impeccable, but she leaves the most interesting questions. As an anthropologist rather than a journalist, she avoids passing judgement (see "White Coat, Black Hat" for that), and I admire her professional detachment, but I wish there had been more of a conclusion.