Book #5, John M. Ford, The Last Hot Time
What a weird, brilliant little book this is. I think the end is a bit rushed and muddled, and I think Doc could have protagged a bit more (he does an awful lot of go-and-dying, and I would like him to have more agency), but it makes up for it in sheer WTF and gorgeousness.
Book #6, Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind
I feel like I should get credit for two books for this one. It's a doorstop. I was also, alas, somewhat disappointed by it, because it starts off rather promisingly with beautiful writing, snarky demon sidekicks, and silicon spiders as big as cartwheels, for which I was willing to forgive the redhaired wizard bard assassin protagonist. (At least this one was male.)
But then the silicon spiders turned into a frame story for 600 pages of backstory and bildungsroman, and by the time I got to the end of it, I realized that I really didn't like the arrogant son of a bitch very much, and I didn't actually care about his travails as the most brilliant student ever because I wanted to hear about the snarky demon and the silicon demon spiders.
On the other paw, Pat can really rub words together, and I am glad this thing is selling like hotcakes, because I like Pat and you should send his beard your money. The average epic fantasy reader is probably more tolerant of 600 page flashbacks than I.
...too many novels. Send nonfiction.
(Actually, I have a book of Marlowe criticism lined up next. Win!)