I recently finished Warm Bodies, a post-apocalypse love story in which one of the couple happens to be a zombie with other zombie friends. I was going to say it’s not my usual, but I’ve decided I don’t have a go-to genre anymore. I’ll read anything. If it’s good. But of course I won’t know if it’s good until I read it. I can’t say no to anything, really. Especially a book I can read in one night while Sarge…
In the time it took Sarge to read one chapter of Ulysses, I started and finished I Was Amelia Earhart, recommended by DB over at Getting in Touch with my Inner Basket Case. This book was a blink. A very poetic blink. I wanted it to be longer, but I realise now the length was perfect for the story, the moments. It reminded me of any books read in any year of High School English. This is part of its…
‘I enjoy books. No room is fit for occupation without a lining of books. They contain the condensed experiences of humanity. To live fully, one has to read widely. I do not intend to face a man-eating lion in the African veld, fall from an aircraft into the Arabian Sea, soar through outer space or march with the legions of Rome against Gaul or Carthage, yet books can take me to these places, to these predicaments.’ — A Very Private…
I eat books. I am actually addicted to books, and reading them. My two giant bookcases are three rows deep. There is a stack by my bed, and in the office. And at least four books on any other free surface in the house. I put them there, anywhere, when deciding ‘what to read next’, and I don’t put them back, leading to quite random clusters throughout the house. Sarge calls me the book-dropper, he can find me anywhere by…
