Mish @ Stage And Canvas convinced me to read this book with a comment on the Great Movie Adaptations’ Weekly Geeks. It sounded like a fun, light-hearted read, and that’s exactly what it was. Fun. Light-hearted. Feel good.
It’s a book that combines the best elements of all the classic fairy tales, and exaggerates them to the point of hilarity. There’s true love, poison, revenge, hatred, pride, giants, miracle men, witches, great fencers, epic duels, beasts, torture, the villain and his cronies, and the hero who has to save the day.
It’s a complicated plot, where in the opening section, the most beautiful girl in the world, Buttercup, realises she’s in love with the farm boy, Westley, and she professes her love, which is obviously reciprocated. However, Westley decides to go to America to seek his fortune, but he is killed by the Dread Pirate Roberts. Devastated, Buttercup says she must never love again. And she doesn’t.
When Prince Humperdinck (don’t you love the name?) finds her, he asks for her hand in marriage, saying the matrimony needn’t be bound by love. Buttercup agrees to the union, but, before the grand wedding, she is kidnapped by a genius Sicilian hunchback, a giant (who fears loneliness), and a wizard fencer (who is seeking revenge on the nobleman who killed his father). A man in black, better with the sword than one of the best fencers in time, stronger than the giant, and cleverer than the hunchback saves her, but ends up leading her to the nightmarish Fire Swamp, with quicksand and ROUS, or Rodents of Unusual Size. And this is there I stop telling the tale, lest I give too much away.
How can you not love a book which has lines like:
My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.
or,
“Fool!” cried the hunchback. “You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is ‘Never get involved in a land war in Asia,’ but only slightly less well known is this: ‘Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line.’”
He was quite cheery until the iocane powder took effect.
I was literally laughing out loud, and was thoroughly entertained. I loved the movie, and I love the book a little bit more, specially for its twisted plot, and for the obscure ending.
What, in my opinion, is truly genius though, is the fact that this is supposed to be the “good parts” version of S. Morgenstern’s classic tale of true love and high adventure. However, S. Morgenstern is a figment of Goldman’s imagination, and doesn’t actually exist. Why is this genius? Well, only because at the beginning of the book Goldman states it’s his favourite book ever, and his father read it to him while he was recovering from pneumonia. Throughout the book, Goldman adds “notes,” explaining some of the cuts he has made, for the original work was apparently epically long. These notes also include some of his thoughts, like, how a children’s book is bound to have a happy ending, and how, the leading lady will not be killed by sharks half-way through the book!
‘Life isn’t fair, Bill. We tell our children that it is, but it’s a terrible thing to do. It’s not only a lie, it’s a cruel lie. Life is not fair, and it never has been, and it’s never going to be.’
These comments from the so-called “abridger” reads completely independently, and, can easily be skipped/skim-read. But then, Goldman talks at length about the trouble he had with his fictitious book’s estate, and he makes an incredibly convincing case – which, retrospectively, I attribute to being satirical as well.
It’s a great book for children, and adults, and it just is a fairy tale as no other.
Rating : A+
Filed under: ALA Best Books For Young Adults, Children's Books, Review, Satire, William Goldman | 7 Comments
Tags: Fairy Tales, Satire, William Goldman
Morocco!
I’ve been AWOL all week, as I was in sunny Morocco! A wonderful break from the cold misery that London’s been, although being in Marrakech did come with its downsides. Apparently, I’m allergic to the sun and the dust, and Marrakech is, by far, the most polluted city I’ve ever visited. I even had trouble breathing at times!!! Maybe, I’m just delicate…
Anyway, we stayed at a fantastic riad, which provided us with a scrumptious breakfast, and despite being in some dark decrepit alleyway, it was really amazing. The guys who ran it are French, and they were superb, and we ended up getting lots of advice from them. I even got to practice my French (Bonjour Monsieur, parlez-vous anglais? and je ne comprends pas covers it!).
Marrakech isn’t a pretty city, but what it doesn’t have in beauty, it makes up for in character. The main square and the souks are bustling with people, and everyone’s trying to drag you into their store/stall. You practically had to bargain for everything, which was slightly tiresome, as I’m a “fixed price” kind-of girl. However, when they ask for 280 dirhams for something, and eventually sell you the item for 80, you have to wonder…
Also, Sex and the City 2 was being shot in Morocco while we were there too – about five minutes away from where we were staying. It’s funny, as, last time we were in New York, we saw some scenes being filmed in Central Park as well, for the first movie. So, the three of us have been contemplating our next holiday location, just to see if we’ll run into the Sex and the City crew again… and, none of us are fans – just for the record!
Unfortunately, while I did take two books with me, my eyes reacted to the dust and the sun, and for most of the holiday, my eyes were watering, and I couldn’t read. Like an idiot, I left my glares back home, and that did my eyes in. I was walking with my eyes closed while outside, and that wasn’t out of choice. Sucks, as my eyes are closed in more than half the pictures we took outdoors.
Oh well, I’m back in London now, and have enjoyed breathing the clean fresh air (!), being blown away by the wind, and experiencing tube trouble – all in a day’s work! It’s good to be home.
Filed under: Uncategorized | 20 Comments
Background:
While this month, my blog entries seem to be focused a lot on the Take A Chance challenge, it’s only because the challenge is up end of month, and I am actually trying to finish it. After this, I only have one more challenge to tackle, and I’ve already started the final book (David Guterson’s East of the Mountain).
This is challenge#1, i.e. “Random Book Selection”. My random directions included going to the fiction corner at Waterstones, and selecting the fourteenth book from the third shelf on the second book-case. Coming up with a Penguin Modern Classic, I think, was a shade of luck.
I don’t normally compare or contrast books, but, the best way to define this book would be Lord of the Flies meeting The Road. Considering The Death of Grass was published in the 1950s, and The Road in the 21st century, it might not be the fairest statement, but, when I finished the book, that’s the first thing that came to my mind.
Survival of the fittest. That’s what it’s about – even if it means civilised people killing their fellow citizens, contemplating leaving a young boy to die, heartlessly killing a couple, and keeping their eyes on reaching a “safe haven” of sorts. Finding comfort in the fact that they will be able to re-acquaint themselves with humanity upon reaching this haven, the protagonists (and their countrymen) resort to barbarism and anarchism, just to survive.
He stared up at her, incredulously, while she did so, and was still staring when the bullets began tearing through his body. He shrieked once or twice, and then was quiet. She went on firing until the magazine was exhausted. There was comparative silence after that, broken only by Mary’s sobbing.
A developed country, England, is in turmoil, after the Chung-Li virus has wiped out all their “grass” and “grass crops,” including rice and wheat. The Chung-Li virus has already caused widespread disruption in Asia, and the Europeans had seen them resort to their worst sides as the resulting famine ensured the lack of food for everyone. However, they attributed the disaster to the “lack of thoroughness” of the Asiatics, and figured that being in a developed country, they would never stoop so low.
The ecosystem is collapsing, but the government issues some false press that the virus is in control, in order to calm the civilians, and prevent them from panicking and acting out of haste. However, what the government has in mind is, for lack of better words, scary. Atomic bombs can deplete life; subsequently drastically decreasing the number of mouths to feed. Aid from the United States has come to a halt, and now, England is battling alone.
John Custance, an architect in London, on a heads up from a close friend, decides to make a break for his brother’s farm in the North, with his family and close friends. There, he figures, they will all be safe, until the crisis is over, and they can return to normalcy.
However, what ensues begs the question: Can their lives ever return to what it used to be like? The journey up North is difficult, violent, and life-changing in every way imaginable. People kill for food, for shelter, for survival. The fall of the government has just led to people’s darker sides taking over, and we see brutal scenes of rape, as well as, pure cold-blooded killing. Some members of the group are trying to hold on to their humanity. Some have left it behind, with the single goal of reaching the farm in mind.
This is a bleak depressing book, which makes me question my faith in humanity. When push comes to shove, will we resort to killing our own to survive? When the ecosystems break down, will we sacrifice everything that supposedly differentiates us from other beings, just to make it? Will we do anything in the world to protect our friends, families and loved ones? Even if it means compromising on the ideals we’ve always believed in?
Just as most of the book is bleak and disheartening, the ending is unbelievably despondent, and you’re just left gaping, wondering how on earth did humanity end up like this. And then, you thank your stars that this is merely fiction…
…But, for how long?
Can you imagine killing someone in cold blood, just because they have shelter and food? And how would you react when you knew the odds were against you, but, you knew exactly what you had to do if you wanted to live another day?
Filed under: John Christopher, Penguin Modern Classics, Review, Sci-Fi/Fantasy | 6 Comments
Tags: Dystopia, John Christopher, London
Molly Keane – Full House
I stumbled upon this book in a second-hand bookstore, and fell in love with the cover. It’s also my first green Virago Modern Classic, and I was quite excited to begin this journey… luckily, it didn’t disappoint, which is nice, as my last two reads haven’t been exceptionally good, by any standards.
Set in the backdrop post the Great War, Full House introduces us to one of the most frightening mothers in literature, Lady Bird, and her family which is undergoing all kinds of transformations. John, the oldest child was on the brink of insanity, and was sent to a hospital. He is now returning home, much to the delight of the entire family, and Eliza – a friend to both, Lady Olivia Bird and Sir Julian Bird – has come to their magnificent home, Silverue, to share this momentous occasion with them.
However, while the early pages of the book deals with John’s return, the story quickly develops into an account of the Bird children, their governess – Miss Parker, as well as the adults: Eliza, Julian and Olivia.
There’s Mark, the cruel albeit adorable child, who is the apple of everyone’s eyes, and everyone is completely captivated by his beauty, so much so that no one wants him to grow up. There’s his older sister, Sheena, who is in love with a boy, but their engagement has been delayed due to their age. John, of course, is the oldest of the three, and his return home is the catalyst for the rest of the story, which includes posh tedious tennis parties, a garden tour for fundraising which exhausts everyone as Olivia pushes them to do her bidding, broken hearts, new loves, and changed lives. Questions are asked about total honesty, about doing what’s right, and about loyalty. More questions are raised about true love, happiness, and friendship.
And of course… there’s Lady Bird. A funny name, if there was one, but a formidable character, nonetheless. Cruel, girlish, and more focused on being an “older sister” to her children, than acting as their mother, Lady Bird is accustomed to getting her own way, and Julian indulges her. Her children don’t have the nicest things to say about her, and despite threatening to leave, they never really intend to. Yet, she never registers her children’s true opinion of her, as she focuses on looking “oppressively young”, creating fantastic flower decorations, and contemplating a Swiss governess for her youngest son.
The inconsequence and the obviousness of all her posturings and nonsense. How could she blind herself to the fact that they could not deceive her reasonably intelligent and spiteful offspring. They did not see even the shadow of her pretended self, only her pretences. And in her affections she was most sincere. She had nothing else except her beauty, and that cold not affect them at all.
Words cannot do justice to the depth of this story. The writing is beautifully vivid, and the Birds are one of the most enchanting families I have across in the world of books. As the past catches up with the present, as old secrets emerge, and as despair overtakes some members of the house, one cannot help but share the emotions: sympathise, love, regret, shed tears, and hope for a happy ending, after everything the “poor dears” have been through.
This book was originally published in the 1930s, and the dialog is fantastic; full of “dears”, “sweets” and “darlings”. Terms of endearment and thrown about carelessly, as are aspersions cast. For instance, little Markie, at the age of seven, calls his sister “bitch”. I was fairly taken aback there. Yet, hopeless romantic that I am, paragraphs like the below did make me smile and wonder where the times have gone? Where the innocence and tranquility has disappeared to? And maybe… to an extent, I am glad we don’t talk like this anymore…..
“Eliza, look at me. Darling, you’re so wonderful. Why didn’t I know before you cared about me. Darling, tell me. Don’t be so obstinate. Oh my god, I love you so much. I think I do, don’t I?”
“How can I tell you if you love me, sweet one? I only know about myself.”
In a nutshell, I loved this book. The candid opinions, the selfishness, the adorations and the affections.
PS : I am trying out a new rating system, linked above. Please let me know what you think of it – does it work, or not so much?
Filed under: General Fiction, Molly Keane, Review, Virago Modern Classics | 19 Comments
Tags: Ireland, Molly Keane
Diminished
Background:
The Take A Change Challenge is due to end 30th November, and I still have three challenges to complete. I’m half way through one of the books, and did start the second one, but put it on hold.
Anyway, Challenge#8 (aka Lit Riff) says:
Choose a song and then write a brief story that is inspired by or further explains the lyrics of the song.
It took me absolutely ages to decide on a song, and I’ve gone through about three drafts, before I was happy with my selection. It’s a bleak song, called Diminished, by one of my favourite bands: REM.
It’s not one of their more popular songs. In fact, I couldn’t even find a youtube video of the band singing it. There were some covers, but, I really don’t do covers! So, anyway, here’s me lit-riffing, and crossing off another one of the ten challenges that make up this incredible challenge.
She closed her eyes, and leaned back on her seat, wondering how to play it. She knew she was going to be called on to the witness stand any second now, and she didn’t have a plan. Absolutely nothing. And she had told her lawyer that she had it all covered; but, she just couldn’t remember what happened that fateful rainy night, try as she might… It was almost like it had been permanently erased from her memory, and there was no backup. The lawyer had tried to prepare her. He’d asked her questions. Questions she was unable to answer. Had they argued that night? What was the argument about? Had she pushed him?
She remembered the argument. Oh, it was so silly. It was actually about orange juice without bits. So insignificant. How on earth had it resulted in something like this? Had she…, she gulped. Could she have…. Did she… push him? She shook her head immediately. There was no way she would’ve…. she had never even hurt a fly!
It was the not remembering, that really scared her. That had made her not listen to her legal advisor. He had advised her to plead guilty by reason of insanity. She had rolled her eyes then, but now, seconds before she was going to be crucified on the stand, she wondered if it was completely implausible. Maybe she should just plead guilty…
“What’s the precedent on this kind of a thing?” she whispered to her lawyer.
He looked at her, exasperated. “You don’t want to know,” he replied, and looking at her pale tormented face, felt a pang. Whoever said lawyers don’t have feelings? “Just… try and charm the jury. Think it’s in your favour.”
She looked at him, and sighed for what seemed to be the nth time, wringing her hands together. She heard her name being called, and the lawyer nudging her to approach the bench. She glanced at the jury, and saw the poker faces staring back at her. She averted her eyes immediately, and felt a single tear roll down her cheek.
“Baby, I loved you. Baby, I loved you. Baby, I…” she whispered, taking her place, and putting her hand atop the Holy Book, almost mechanically. “Okay, I’m going to do my best today. I’m going to do it right. Please god, give me the courage,” she said to herself, as she looked around her, seeing the unfamiliar faces; some friendly, some downright hostile.
She crumpled to the floor, before they could even ask her to confirm her name. A broken soul. Everyone could hear her loud gasps for air, as she cried uncontrollably. “Baby, baby, I’m finished…”
She glanced up, and saw the jury’s poker faces transform into looks of sympathy. The hostile glances in the audience had decreased significantly. In fact, some of those faces actually reflected concern. Even the aggressive prosecutor looked embarrassed at questioning the young girl.
She smiled a secret invisible smile to herself. She had played her part perfectly.
Filed under: Another Cookie Crumbles Takes On Writing | 3 Comments
Tags: R.E.M.
Susan Hill – The Beacon
Background:
I ended up picking this book for the Take A Chance Challenge#5. You might have noticed that in my original book selection, I had opted for Mary Higgins Clark’s Just Take My Heart. However, that book is not out in paperback yet, so… I went back to the phone book and found the name “Hill”.
With Howard’s End Is On The Landing out recently, and loads of bloggers reviewing it, I figured Susan Hill was the sensible choice! And so, here it is… Susan Hill’s The Beacon. Just for the record, this is the first Susan Hill I’ve read….
The book opens with Mrs. Prime’s peaceful death at The Beacon, where she lives with one of her children, May. Two of the others have married locally, and quiet, almost reticent Frank lives in London. May had gone to London to study to escape from the bleak country-life, but, hallucinations and nightmares drove her to return to the safety of home within the year.
While May is contemplating making the call to her siblings, she tries to figure out if she should call Frank – Frank who betrayed the entire family, and who they haven’t spoken to since. This leads to retrospection: looking back at how events unfolded, and the impact it had on the family as a whole.
Mostly written in May’s voice, this book does explore a very interesting topic. Frank’s ultimate betrayal is writing a book in first person, entitled The Story Of One Boy’s Brutal Childhood, where he talks of his life in the “cupboard under the stairs” (very Harry Potter-like), and the abuse he suffered at the hands of his older siblings and father. However, as the other children (now adults) remember it, this is mere fabrication, and none of it ever happened. However, as they live in a small village in Ireland, the family name has been tarnished, and it’s almost impossible for them to vindicate themselves. Also, a doubt has formed in everyone’s mind, and the siblings themselves cannot determine what’s the truth, and what they have deleted from their memories.
While the premise is interesting, i.e. how a memoir like Frank’s victimises the family, the book in itself fell flat. It started off being interesting, but as it progressed, it left a lot to be desired… specially the ending, which was at best ambiguous. Based on this, I don’t think I’ll be seeking out more of Susan Hill’s works.
Rating: 2.5
Filed under: General Fiction, Review, Susan Hill | 12 Comments
Tags: Susan Hill
Image sourced from Churchill JCR
Happy Halloween, everyone! What have you been doing this Halloween? Watching scary movies? Reading scary books? Trickin’ & treatin’? Or, hiding under the covers?
Me – well, I’ve almost ignored Halloween completely, barring the couple of hours of TV that I indulged myself in. I meant to read Shirley Jackson’s We Have Always Lived In The Castle, or, Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book. However, I didn’t end up doing either (I have a valid excuse: I don’t have either of the books), and that pretty much seems to sum up my October.
I’m not one of those people who blogs daily. I don’t feel compelled to, and I don’t want to put myself under that kind of stress (I get stressed very easily). This is supposed to be a fun thing, right? However, I’m quite shocked about how little I’ve blogged this month (just the nine posts, excluding this one), and almost embarrassed.
Even my reading stats have been worse than usual this month, with me only finishing five books. To be honest, when I was home, I indulged myself in “comfort reading,” including many Roald Dahls, and both, the St. Clares and Malory Towers series. It was a welcome change, and I enjoyed that for a week or so. Being ill, and suffering from god-knows-what didn’t really help either.
Anyway… I did read some amazing books this month, with my favourite being a toss-up between Rebecca and I Capture The Castle. How are you supposed to choose one of those books over the other?
I do have some extensive reading plans for November, including:
Of course, as most things, nothing will go according to plan, and you probably won’t see anything on any of these books for the next few months (barring Susan Hill’s The Beacon, and that’s only because I’m half-way through that book).
Anyway, as I do feel slightly guilty about a very quiet October, I promise I’ll try my best to make it up in November…… wish me luck!
Filed under: Random Musings | 24 Comments
I absolutely loved The Shadow Of The Wind when I read it back in April, with its glimpse into old Barcelona, fantastic story-telling and hyperbolism extraordinaire. When The Angel’s Game hit the stores a few months back, I picked it out almost greedily, and stacked it on my bookshelf, waiting for the “right” time to pull it out, and lose myself in the magical world of Zafón’s writing.
The Angel’s Game takes us back to old Barcelona, towards the end of World War I, through the eyes of David Martin, an aspiring writer. The opening lines set the mood for the book:
A writer never forgets the first time he accepts a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood, and the belief that, if he succeeds in not letting anyone discover his lack of talent, the dream of literature will provide him with a roof over his head, a hot meal at the end of the day, and what he covets most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that surely will outlive him. A writer is condemned to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price.
The narrator starts off as a sensationalist story-writer; his thrillers are first published weekly in a newspaper, and he goes on to assume a pseudonym, to write a monthly series of books entitled City of the Damned. While his stories were well-received, David’s attempt at a serious novel met with bad reviews, and a combination of disappointment and enticement led him to make a deal with the devil himself : Andreas Corelli, a Parisian publisher, who offers David a small fortune, in return for David writing him an epic book, a book that would create a brand new religion, to which Corelli would play god (or, in this case, the devil).
David inadvertently gets sucked into Corelli’s game, digging up secrets from years gone by, witnessing murders, being a subject of police investigations, and almost living a life that existed in his series, City of the Damned. His best friend marries his lover, an adolescent moves in with him in order to find a writing mentor, and subsequently turning his life upside down, and his residence, a creepy tower in the sinister dark side of the city, holds infinite mysteries of its own.
The book also takes us back to the Cemetery Of Forgotten Books, an incredible concept that Zafón introduced in his debut novel, and it sounds equally fantastic. This time, David goes there to hide a book, and is subject to the same rules as Daniel was in The Shadow Of The Wind.
However, that’s where the similarity ends. The book has some great characters, with Isabella (the adolescent who seeks David out to be her mentor) being a personal favourite, but the story was disjointed, and had way too many bizarre things happening, leading to a disappointing ending, where the loose ends remain untied. The book started promisingly, and is quite fast-paced, but in my opinion, it’s at the expense of things not being explained coherently, or the writing being rushed.
Zafón’s a talented writer, and there are phrases and sentences that leapt off the page and made me chuckle, or nod in agreement. Like his protagonist, he seems to be a sensationalist writer, enjoying the luxury of hyperboles and scandal. In fact, in parts the book, I thought that some of David’s experiences were first hand accounts – the way David is treated by his publishers, the art of procrastination, and the way of research.
It’s unfortunate, so, that his second book didn’t live up to all the hype that the first book had created.
Rating: 2.5
Filed under: Carlos Ruiz Zafon, General Fiction, Magical Realism, Review | 7 Comments
Tags: Carlos Ruiz Zafón, Spain
Dodie Smith’s I Capture The Castle is another one of those books with a fantastic opening line, which makes the reader want more:
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink. That is, my feet are in it; the rest of me is on the draining board, which I have padded with our dog’s blanket and the tea-cosy.
An enchanting narrator, seventeen year old Cassandra (described as Jane Eyre with a touch of Becky Sharp), attempts to capture eight of the months of her stay at the castle, in three journals: the six penny book, the shilling book, and the two guinea book.
Poverty-striken, with barely any new income coming in, the family is trying to figure out the best way to make ends meet. All the antiques have been sold, and the castle is but bare now. Cassandra’s father, also a writer, hasn’t been able to work since he was in prison for three months, and the money coming in from the successes of his first book is now nil. His second wife, Topaz, occasionally poses nude for artists to earn money, but even that isn’t much for she has to live in London during these jobs, and living there is expensive. Cassandra’s older sister, Rose, is bitter and disgruntled with the state of affairs, and contemplates working the streets in order to make some quick money; whereas Thomas is still going to school and giving a helping hand around at home. Finally, there’s young Stephen, the son of their now deceased househelp, who is completely enamoured by Cassandra, despite the fact that it seems to be unrequited.
When Simon and Neil Cotton, the inheritors of the castle, which the family has leased, come into their lives one day, Cassandra focuses on getting Rose and Simon together, in order to improve the quality of Rose’s life, and see her happier. However, what transpires is heart-wrenching, as the seventeen year old realises that love is complicated, and somehow, things don’t always turn out as one intends them to.
Cassandra is a lovely and fascinating narrator, and her writing is full of literary and musical references, be it Lord Fauntleroy, or Debussy. Hidden throughout the book are loads of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte references, and one of my favourite parts of the book read:
“I thought of the beginning of Pride and Prejudice – where Mrs. Bennett says ‘Netherfield Park is let at last’. And then Mr. Bennett goes to call on the rich new owner.”
“Mr. Bennett didn’t owe him any rent,” I said.
“Father wouldn’t go anyway. How I wish I lived in a Jane Austen novel!”
I said I’d rather be in a Charlotte Bronte.
“Which would be nicest – Jane with a touch of Charlotte, or Charlotte with a touch of Jane?”
There are even art references, and I was quite surprised by a surrealist Dali reference. These references added to the book, and I found myself being fascinated as I was surrounded by intelligent well-read characters, and not girls who are looking to sit pretty and not do much else.
The emotions are also portrayed beautifully, and the honesty the journals portray are heartwarming. She comes across as a conscientious child, innocent and “consciously naive”, and when she acts impulsively, her guilt and self-criticism begs for sympathy.
The one “captured” character, though, that I just didn’t understand, was the father. He turned a blind eye to the problems of the castle, where his children were dressed in torn worn-out clothes, and there was barely any food at home. Even when Stephen, someone who “worked” for the family without taking any wages, offered to get a job and contribute to the household expenditures, the father carried on as though everything was right as rain. Some of the other characters were convinced that he needed psychological help, whereas others labeled him a genius.
I loved this book to bits, and thought it was a wonderful story, from the perspective of a very charming seventeen year old. The characters are incredible, the story touching, and the turn of events mind-boggling and wistful. And the book didn’t have a typical ending, which endeared me to it further.
Rating: 4
Filed under: BBC's Big Read {Best Loved Novel}, Coming of Age, Dodie Smith, Review, Virago Modern Classics | 14 Comments
Tags: Dodie Smith
Meme Time
I’m having a really poor October, with respect to blogging. It’s almost embarrassing, but, believe it or not, I’m still ill, despite finishing two courses of antibiotics. Being at home has helped some – at least I get Mum’s cooking, and read my childhood favorites – but, I’m still feeling really awful. :(
Anyway, I stumbled upon this meme on The Boston Bibliophile’s blog, and figured it might be fun to give it a lash. Here goes…
1. What author do you own the most books by?
Ah, this is easy. Enid Blyton. I have all of the Famous Fives, Five Find Outers, Secret Sevens, Malory Towers, St. Clares, The Naughtiest Girl, The Adventure Series, The Mystery Series, The Faraway Tree…. I think you get the idea. I must have over 150 Enid Blytons, easily.
2. What book do you own the most copies of?
None – I think I own just the one copy of all my books.
3. Did it bother you that both those questions ended with prepositions?
I did notice it, but, it didn’t really bother me.
4. What fictional character are you seriously in love with?
Ayn Rand’s Howard Roark {from The Fountainhead}, or JD Salinger’s Holden Caulfield {from Catcher In The Rye}. I know people either love or hate Caulfield, but, I still love him just as much as I did when I first read the book.
5. What book have you read the most times in your life?
It’s got to be an Enid Blyton! However, now-a-days, I make it a point to read The Fountainhead once a year… I haven’t read it this year, but, have read it once a year for the previous nine years. Also, Catcher In The Rye is my “feel-good” book, and I have three copies of it, and flip through it whenever I’m down in the dumps… can’t really say how many times I’ve read it, though…
6. Favorite book as a ten year old?
Has to be The Faraway Tree books, although, if I had to say a non-Enid Blyton book, it would be Roald Dahl’s The Witches.
7. What is the worst book you’ve read in the past year?
The only book I was unable to finish this year was Anne Enright’s The Gathering. Make of that what you will…
8. What is the best book you’ve read in the past year?
Angela Carter’s The Magic Toyshop, F Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange, Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca, Sarah Waters’ Fingersmith… boy, the list goes on!
9. If you could force everyone you know to read one book, what would it be?
In an ideal world, The Fountainhead. However, as it’s such a chunkster, I’d probably say Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, or Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance.
10. What book would you like to see made into a movie?
Ooh, that’s a toughie. Maybe David Mitchell’s Number9Dream?
11. What is the most difficult book you’ve ever read?
In the recent past, Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children. However, going back ten-odd years, I attempted to read Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the D’Ubervilles. That was difficult, and I didn’t really get far. I need to try another Hardy…
12. What is your favorite book?
I am going to pretend I don’t know the difference between book and books, and list: A Fine Balance, Diary Of A Bad Year, Catcher In The Rye, The Fountainhead, To Kill A Mockingbird, Lust for Life, Fahrenheit 451, An Equal Music. The list can go on and on and on…
13. What is your favorite play?
Shakepeare’s Macbeth
14. Poem?
Felicia Heman’s Casabianca
15. Essay?
Not really sure…
16. Who is the most overrated writer alive today?
I am going to skip this one… don’t think any of the writers are “overrated”.
17. What is your favorite desert island book?
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead.
18. And… what are you reading right now?
Dodie Smith’s I Capture The Castle
Filed under: Book Memes | 12 Comments
-
I’m Reading…
-
commentin' on...
next in line
