I've finished the three books I was reading at the end of March.
Nights at the Circus by Angela Carter was fantastical and extravagant, its main character -- Fevvers, a woman with huge angel-like wings -- by no means the wildest of the weird creations on display, and the flamboyant prose mirrored the baroque, burlesque grotesquerie. But for me it was all too over-the-top, the flights of fancy tumbled into an unholy mix of feminism, socialism and depressive clowns, and the only character I was truly interested in was Sybil, a piglet seer in a starched ruff who makes all the circus impresario's decisions for him.
The Spire by William Golding was its complete antithesis both in story and prose style. Intelligent but cold in its portrayal of obsession descending into madness, and the metaphysical aspects of the story were way over my head.
See Delphi and Die by Lindsey Davis involved her detective-like hero going on a trip around Greece with a tour company in order to discover the murderer of a young woman, and mostly consisted of catalogue of ancient Greek sites with full info-dumped details of the antiquities available for the tourists. Easily digestible and instantly forgettable.
While finishing the Carter, which was the longest of the three, I also picked up and raced through Across the Nightingale Floor by Lian Hearn, the first in her Tales of the Otori series set in a simulacrum of feudal Japan. The plot wasn't particularly grabbing or original -- a boy survives a massacre of his village, and is adopted by a nobleman who seeks his own revenge on the man behind the massacre -- but the writing was clear, with lovely touches concerning the natural world, and the magical elements meshed perfectly with the setting, though I was a tad disappointed that the nightingale floors (real-life anti-assassin inventions) weren't as prominent or decisive to the plot as I'd hoped. Though both main characters are male, women play an integral part in the novel, and are shown to be equal to men in intelligence and ability (and in cruelty and hypocrisy), without sacrificing the historical reality of their place as decorative objects within the noble households, though within the ahistorical magical families their talents are positively embraced.