My Week: My Month: My excuse for being late with persona augustus Wendy-the-Super-Librarian’s TBR Challenge of ‘Something Different’: True Story. I did actually complete it though. Really Valancy? You broke your cardinal … Continue reading Something Different: Tangled Reins, Stephanie Laurens, (or 4 Georgette Heyers in 1…so maybe not REALLY that different…)
They say the first step to recovery is admitting it…so I am just going to come out and say it: this month was 31 consecutive days of over-reading, glomming and bingeing on authors that I insta-loved. In other words: single-author book bacchanalias.
Yep. I am blaming the bingo card. Not my (possibly appalling) reading choices. Externalising blame…it’s much safer that way! I hadn’t noticed until I started BINGO-ing (can that be a verb?), … Continue reading June Bingo (or the month that practically NOTHING went ANYWHERE…)
I don’t THINK it has been a while since I posted – but it FEELS like it.
Life has been too – too…just TOO.
It also hasn’t helped that I’ve been stranded on a monadnock (YES – the COOLEST new descriptor ever) of terrible books. At times I wondered if I was going to have to go all Hatchet on them just to get out alive – but last night there was a break through(!) (*tears of relief*)
TBR CHALLENGE: MARCH 2016
It’s been a little while since I posted…IRL has been NUTS – and I’ve missed posting and commenting and friendly-stalking pretty blogs (or is that something only I do…?)
Warning: ranting follows. This is a day and age of snark. Which is fine by me, because I am in general a little (a lot?) bit snarky. I don’t care … Continue reading When in Rome, Amabile Giusti, (or Calling for a SNARK-reprieve)
The world can never be free of Nicholas Sparks.
I have realised this. I may not have embraced it, but I have definitely acknowledged the fact that in the world of bizarre, strange, intriguing, generic, and down right bland interests, Nicholas Sparks fills a void.
He is the reason why prematurely grey actors still can find work; why action heroes can still make movies in the off-season, why women (and society in general), have completely unrealistic ideas about
I am making a prude-post.
I am not sorry.
I am a little sad though.
I tend to be a vanilla reader. I make no apologies for this. I was raised on a diet of Protestant preaching and felt board Bible stories, with a healthy dollop of Baptist guilt thrown in for good measure.
My understanding, going in was that is was a RE-IMAGINING of Jane Eyre. A contemporary Korean American retelling of Charlotte Bronte’s inimitable classic. It looked modern, bright, full of potential…But having learned from bitter experience, and previous forays in to this type of thing, I kept my expectations low. So, say, anything above a blank piece of paper was going to be a good thing.
So was reading a book… perambulating through it really – when I was slowly overwhelmed by this feeling. Not all at once mind you – more like an encroaching tide of inevitability, coupled with a sense of ineluctable destiny. Like all roads would lead to this point, regardless of the path I took. No Robert Frost for me thank you. I was like: no, wait…there is something about this that is soo familiar… It was elusive (not unlike the scarlet pimpernel). It was liminal. It was Georgette Heyer. Again. It did make me wonder: do all roads lead to Georgette Heyer?
Dear More Than You Dreamed.
I don’t know if you remember me, but I am the individual, who just last week, threw you at my wall and left you lying awkwardly and splayed in the corner of my lounge-room. I apologise sincerely for any injuries sustained in the course of this event, and I have since (you will note), picked you up, unbent your cover, generally un-smooshed you and placed you high on a shelf in my study. You may be wondering about the highness of the shelf, its relative distance from my lounge room, and its relative closeness to the two daddy long-legs that are inhabiting the corner of said study…
I am sad to report and and even more loath to write it… BUT I think it may be possible that I have entered a wee doldrum of book reading.
Yes, like the muppets of treasure island ilk, I have sailed the distant oceans, traversed the waters and just when the I was avast ye-ing into the horizon, I encountered the doldrums…or in this case: the-enormous-pile-of-books-I-started-and-threw-down-again-in-frustration/hatred/annoyance/disdain.
It’s a big pile. My cats edge quietly around it, wondering if its precarious lean to left will end in a squished tail.
Dedicated to that feeling of disappointment when you realise what you have just read, has already been done, better; clever-er, funnier; and probably 50-100 years earlier.