Tag: review-ish

Middlemarch: Book II, Old and Young (Or, not everything is coming up roses…)

When last we left them, the Middlemarchers were fair to middling in their various life choices.

We had met Dorothea and DESPAIRED of her marrying that dull prosy old fart (Casaubon); and had made a tentative acquaintance with Tertius Lydgate.

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Classic Review: Middlemarch, George Eliot (or venturing into provincial life…)

One of my New Year’s resolutions was to read (or re-read) classic novels. You know, those books literati refer to with arched eyebrows and smug smirks, to which I nod knowingly about and bluff my way through, whilst never having ACTUALLY really read. (Advanced English & Cliff’s Notes for the win).

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?

About a Boy: Minuscule Thoughts on a Book…The Unfinished Garden, Barbara Claypole White

Musings, reflection, rumination, cogitation: more of this than an actual review – because I am just not sure how I feel about the whole book really. I discovered Barbara Claypole White’s The Unfinished Garden, whilst browsing.
It was in that nifty little section that triumphantly advises ‘people who liked your book also liked these’; meaning if YOU had the good taste to stumble upon this book, then surely you will like to purchase these OTHER books that people who may have BETTER taste then you liked too…

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.