Tag: covers

House By Mouse (a Statement on 80s Feminism, or an Occupational Nightmare of Mammoth Proportions?)

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.

The Coincidence of Coconut Cake, Amy E. Reichert (or the only food book not to make me hungry…)

If there is one thing I can not resist in the world – it’s a romance with food & food peoples. You know how some people are about cowboys? How they start fanning themselves and getting heart palpitations at the mere mention of a jingling spur??? Well, Foodie Romances (is that a thing? I’m not sure – but BlueCastle is making it so), are like my own personal catnip. I can’t resist them. Chefs, cooks, B&B’s with food, kitchens, restaurants, food vans, catering, fast food* – it’s like a book buffet.

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?

Again (or How I’ve Climbed onto the Gilles Seidel Love Wagon)

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.