Call it impulsive, call it compulsive, call it insane

I didn't do any reading for about a week, because Aspen and I decided that TV and old copies of "Seventeen" deserved a higher priority. But I finally finished both books I'd been working on.
One was Brother Cadfael's Penance, the last in the series, and one of the best, if only because it is such a perfect capstone. Funny . . . the murder in this novel is merely a plot device, at best, designed to reconnect Cadfael with his old friend Olivier de Bretagne, but it didn't affect my enjoyment at all. She had the magic, she did.
The other book I finished was The Bourne Identity. It was okay--quite well-written for something of the genre. Ruty and I then watched the movie last night. After comparison, I can say that they have nothing in common, save the name "Jason Bourne" and the concept of situational amnesia. On the whole, I'd say I liked the movie better. It was a good deal more tightly plotted, and the woman didn't seem so cookie-cutter heroine. (And whoever heard of a beautiful Canadian economist, anyway?) I dunno. Spy thrillers aren't really my thing.
Off to Walla Walla tomorrow! As Monica would say, am v. excited.