Tag: carbon copy

Nobody’s Baby But Mine (or perhaps it’s true, Valancy is a prude…)

I am making a prude-post.
I am not sorry.
I am a little sad though.

Full Disclosure:
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.

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RE JANE, Patricia Park (or an analogous Jane Eyre)

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.

Carbon Copy Companion Reading II (or is everything a vague reflection of GEORGETTE HEYER??)

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?

More Than You Dreamed (or how I fell back off the Gilles Seidel Love Wagon…)

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…

Valancy and the pile of MEH

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.