Isn’t funny how books slip through your memories? When you are first discovering them, reading them and subsequently being enchanted by them, you think you are NEVER going to forget … Continue reading A Company of Swans, Eva Ibbotson (or The Archive of the Dis-Remembered…)
When I was 12, already entangled in all the Annes (green gables, avonlea, windy willows – and my favourite of all – the island…) and the Emily’s (of the new … Continue reading The Making of a Marchioness (or is there a heroine dumber than Emily Fox-Seton?)
I have a confession to make. It’s a little dark. It’s a little obscure. I probably need some sort of support group for it…. But: I collect quotes. Lots of … Continue reading The Cinderella Deal, Jennifer Crusie, (or the power of a good quote)
I have book hoarding tendencies. It’s true (and you probably don’t find that all that shocking) but I just can not get rid of any book.
It is unfortunately, a family trait. My father had to build an extra room onto our house when we were young, specifically to house all the accumulated masses collected over the years.
He built this before our bedrooms.
Shall I tell you what I have just survived????
It’s not near-death by jungle python, or near-miss by a bison; although, with the relief I feel at it being finished, it could be totally reclassified as such…) No, It was a solid 72 hours of film festival. To the uninitiated, that’s 9 films, 30 shorts and very little space in between…
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.
If I was proficient in another language, I could no doubt use an exotic phrase or reference to describe the feeling I am currently experiencing. But I’m not. So I … Continue reading Cats, Cabbages & Raymond Chandler (or how to fix the reading blues in one easy lesson…)
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?
For those following – or caring – I was last writing in the midst of a terrible, horrible, no-good, purple-spotted book slump. It was like being in the fire swamp from the Princess Bride: flame spurts, lightning sand, rodents of unusual size and worst of all: deeply terrible stories.
Fortunately, I managed to stagger through, out into the light, and when I did, I was clasping Kathleen Gilles Seidel’s Again.
There has been a cold snap – sudden, ruthless and seemingly endless – which has made me completely hungry for rich, slow cooked meals, Yorkshire puddings and all things warming … Continue reading Cold Comfort Comfits: The Convenient Marriage, Part I
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.
Single-handedly destroying the raison d’être of BlueCastle: Royal Wedding, Colour, 1951, Fred Astaire, Jane Powell.