Books 2010

Books 2009

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Tuesday, 30 March 2010

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I read and enjoyed The Nebuly Coat recently - tremendously atmospheric! - and now want to revisit Moonfleet. It's so long since I read it that I can't remember it at all. I'm intrigued, too, by his third novel, The Lost Stradivarius, one of those titles I seem always to have known of, but never seen a copy, let alone read it. I do like the way in which book blogging introduces us to new books, and reminds us of old ones (except that one's wish list grows ever longer).

Looking at the photo, I was trying to figure out what was the greyish thing between the fields and the beach. A lake! How puzzling, this area surely deserves a visit sooner or later.
I read the McEwan's novel and didn't like it, the story and the characters don't sound likely at all.

Girls might like this, too, because it sounds similar to Dr. Syn (televised as The Scarecrow of Romney Marsh) which I loved when I was a child.

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Quotidian

  • Nothing is of greater consolation to the author of a novel than the disovery of readings he had not conceived but which are then prompted by his readers. (Umberto Eco, Reflections on The Name of the Rose)
  • ... relatively few persons in London ... can afford the luxury of one or more servants. No fewer than 3,700,000 have no servants at all, and of the half million that have servants 227,000 have only one. (The Times, 6 June 1895)
  • Standing among savage scenery, the hotel offers stupendous revelations. There is a French widow in every bedroom, affording delightful prospects. (Tyrolean inn brochure, according to Gerard Hoffnung)
  • (A doctor is at an elderly relative's deathbed) "The old sawbones, eh?" he bellowed ... "Just in the nick, perhaps. Haul the old girl back by the short hairs, if you ask me. Devilish smart at his work ... Always take a fence with more confidence when I know he's out with us."
  • Too often, when a man of Monty Godkin's mental powers is plunged in thought, nothing happens at all. The machinery just whirs for a while, and that is the end of it. (P G Wodehouse, Heavy Weather)
  • ...the breed that take their pleasures as Saint Laurence took his grid (Kipling, The Five nations)

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