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I am just returned from a week in the Scottsdale, Arizona sun: 90 degrees, dry, mountains, desert, family, swimming, running, reading. It was perfect. A shout out to my mom, at whose home we crashed for a few days — she loved it — before heading to a resort, The Sanctuary at Camelback, in Paradise Valley.

There I appreciated the casita-style lodgings, the uncrowded pools, the swanky spa, the serene yoga studio, the mountain views from our (two!) decks. Our teenage daughter will always remember the handsome bellboy, whom we named Ken Doll Sean. My only gripe: poor service and overpriced food. Head elsewhere for meals, especially dinner.

I will get to books… First, off-the-resort eating in Scottsdale. After an evening walk through the Desert Botanical Garden, a favorite of mine, we headed to Los Sombreros, a family-owned Mexican restaurant. Great choice! It’s small, and we sat outside. (Outside, in March!) Our romance-novel-worthy waiter (Ken Doll Estaban) dared my husband to sample their hottest salsa. We did; it was. Estaban suggested the black bean, onion, chorizo queso fundido: yum. I especially liked the right-size taco entrees, without the dump of rice and refried beans filling the plate. Skip the house margaritas: they taste metallic.

Another night we had a family meal at Zinc Bistro, a French place in Kierland Commons. Everyone — teens to the elder set — is happy here. The food is authentic, the service spot on. Start with a charcuterie and cheese board. Steak frites, mais oui. Salmon over couscous, a bowl of moules. It’s all good.

And now, to books. Back at home in dreary cold Chicago I made my way through Elena Ferrante’s My Brilliant Friend, first in series of three. It’s the story of two poor girls growing up in post-war Naples. One is studious; the other, a beauty, marries as a teenager. This is a rich, slow read, studded by sudden violence. As my friend Deborah said, appreciatively, “It’s soooo Italian.” When I set it down I thought, yes, I’ll read the next two…in awhile.

Looking for something lighter, I picked up Nick Horny’s Funny Girl. Ah, London in the 1960’s. Barbara Parker flees provincial Blackpool just as she wins the town’s beauty contest. She doesn’t want to be a beauty queen, she wants to be a comedienne, like Lucille Ball. To London she goes, and comedy follows. I loved this book for the world it took me into: Sixties BBC television. Barbara, who’s a bombshell, becomes the starlet Sophie Straw, who plays a provincial young wife in London named…Barbara. Yes, art and life overlap throughout. My favorite Hornby since High Fidelity: tender, funny, smart.

In Scottsdale., I opened the only book I’d brought, Kazuo Ishigoro’s The Buried Giant. (I gave up on my loaded-with-books Kindle; I hate the click click click of the “page,” among other things.) I am a fan of Ishiguro, especially his beautifully told and haunting When We Were Orphans. Surely his new one…well, no. Of course I was hopeful, and hanging in there, but 124 pages into it I had to bail. It’s the story of an elderly gnomish couple, Brtions, on a mysterious trek to reunite themselves with their son, whom they do and do not remember. It was all so wet and moldy and faux ancient: I started to feel like I was reading The Hobbit. I’m not alone. The New Yorker’s James Woods wonders — with knights, ogres and dragons– why this read is such a slog.

Slim pickings at the airport shop, but I found Jo Jo Moyes’ One Plus One. She’s the author of Me Before You, a wise and moving love story about a man in his last year of life and the young woman who is paid to care for him. I knew Moyes’ writing would be good and the story interesting. It was both. One Plus One is a sweet comedy about — go figure — insider trading and an unlikely family scraping by in a seaside resort town. Also, a very large and loyal dog. People magazine got it right: “Bridget Jones meets Little Miss Sunshine.” It’s predictable, but I never lost interest, and her characters have stayed with me.

It is a blanket-gray day in Chicago. Spring? I am ever hopeful.