Books 2010

Books 2009

« Grave Doubts | Main | Hello, possums! »

Wednesday, 18 November 2009


To Dark Puss
My dear Dark Puss, although I know absolutely nothing about Mrs. Whipple I can tell you for sure that a Whippleite is a big fan and admirer of her books.
For example, the word "Powellite" has appeared several times on this weblog, as you may recall Mr Bagshaw is a self-confessed confirmed and enthusiastic Powellite. You might also have noticed that he is no less than a fanatic Janeite as well, being a great admirer of Jane Austen.

I love answering to this Cat's questions (if I can) although I don't know if I am entitled to do so, not being addressed personally, of course. Anyway, I do it since I don't like unanswered questions in general, and furthermore I enjoy having an occasional chat online with a cat but Dark Puss is not much e-miaowing to me lately - ah, cats' typical aloofness and ingratitude, I know, but they are still lovely.

Boo Not Fair Lindsay and Cornflower! Who or what is a Whippleite? Just shows how much better read you guys are of course ...

Love the steampunky "chair" that illustrates this posting. I was in Oxford yesterday and after a research-related meeting I went off to this exhibition

Probably too small to be worth a special trip, but well worth seeing if you can find (and who cannot) other reasons to visit Oxford.

Ah, you closet Whippleite, you. Bet you've got the complete works, covers hidden under fake jackets to throw the 'serious reading police' off the scent, monograph coming out soon under a pseudonym, all the books on this site no more than a front for your true activities. I'm on to you, boy!

Wesley would have been a real and delightful possibility, or Wilde, Waugh, Winterson ... but my Whipple collection is kept elsewhere!

Having W within reach, you might have grabbed a Mary Wesley, but if you'd just had one of Mrs. Whipple's excellent novels on the shelf, think what a happy reading session you could have enjoyed!

The comments to this entry are closed.


  • 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)

Photo Albums

Blog powered by Typepad