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Check out the Weekly Recommendation Thread.New Release: The Light at the End of the World by Siddhartha Deb.And these were monsters, rearing to the sky, massed like a battalion, too beautiful I thought, too powerful they were not plants at all. I told him 'Yes,' a little breathlessly, uncertain whether I was speaking the truth or not, for to me a rhododendron was a homely, domestic thing, strictly conventional, mauve or pink in colour, standing one beside the other in a neat round bed. They startled me with their crimson faces, massed one upon the other in incredible profusion, showing no leaf, no twig, nothing but the slaughterous red, luscious and fantastic, unlike any rhododendron plant I had seen before. There was something bewildering, even shocking, about the suddenness of their discovery. “Suddenly I saw a clearing in the dark drive ahead, and a patch of sky, and in a moment the dark trees had thinned, the nameless shrubs had disappeared, and on either side of us was a wall of colour, blood-red, reaching far above our heads.
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