The Friday 56 (With Book Beginnings): The Regional Office is Under Attack! by Manuel Gonzales

Welcome to The Friday 56, a weekly meme hosted by Freda's Voice.

These are the rules:

1. Grab a book, any book.

2. Turn to page 56, or 56% on your eReader.

3. Find any sentence (or a few, just don't spoil it) that grabs you.

4. Post it.

5. Add the URL to your post in the link on Freda's most recent Friday 56 post.

I'm also taking part in Book Beginnings, a weekly meme hosted by Rose City Reader.  The rules are pretty simple - you share the first sentence or so and your initial thoughts, impressions, or whatever else it inspires.  Don't forget to link up your post's url with Rose City Reader.

This week I'm spotlighting my current read, The Regional Office is Under Attack! by Manuel Gonzales.  A little less than a month ago, I saw the review for this debut novel appear in the Bookpage and I thought it sounded exactly like something I would adore.  I requested a copy through my library and so far I'm really enjoying it.  In a way, its sense of humor and overall style reminds me of The Intern's Handbook by Shane Kuhn, except with more fantastical elements.  

Beginning:

From The Regional Office is Under Attack: Tracking the Rise and Fall of an American Institution

If you were wealthy, but extremely so, and you were in the market for a lavish adventurous getaway, one that might require the retainer of Sherpas - in the event that you came across a mountain you wished to scale - as well as a hot-air balloon and balloon crew in case, well, that came up, too, the desire, if you will, to hot-air balloon over the glacial formations of Chile, then you could hardly do better than to contact the staff at the Morrison World Travel Concern.

56:

Sarah's time with the Regional Office had trained her to harbor certain suspicions, take few risks, set in place specific precautions, and so it was more than a surprise that there was an envelope waiting for her when she got home.  It had been taped to the inside of her door.  The locks hadn't been picked or forced.  The small piece of black thread she set in the doorjamb every morning when she left for work hadn't been disturbed.