I'm not reading a whole lot right now, as it's the midterm season and I'm just doing a lot of school work. However, I did finish In Cold Blood and I'm nearly done with The Beginning of the Fields, and neither book has disappointed.
I think the most interesting thing I've read recently is a short story by David Foster Wallace called "Good People." It was published in that creaky bastion of glossy high lit, The New Yorker, sometime in 2007. I'm a big fan of David Foster Wallace's writing, having read most everything he's written (save for his 1990 co-authored nonfiction book, Signifying Rappers, and his nigh-impossible to find book on infinity, Everything and More.) The story is exceedingly simple and incredibly sincere and heartfelt. I don't want to say too much about it, as the discovery of the conflict and the characters is surprising and moving. But it made me mourn the loss of a man and a writer who was clearly moving into new and interesting territory.