Wolf Hall, Round Two

As the rain of the past month subsides to fluffy clouds and the onset of hot summer city nights in bars, my thoughts are elsewhere: returning to a different era of London with Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall. John and I took a trip to Hampton Court Palace last weekend, braving the rain for dark wooden panelled rooms and uneven cobbled courtyards. That, coupled with the release of the sequel Bring Up the Bodies, has made me Tudor crazy, and I've definitely found that on the second reading Mantel's style is a lot more forgiving. In the few short days since picking Wolf Hall up again I've already passed the point at which I gave up the last time. And there's no stopping me now...

I think this new found book crush might be partly down to rekindling (no pun intended) my romance with paper copies of books. As much as I love my kindle, there is something magical about a soft, well thumbed paperback.

Oscar and Lucinda

I bought this gorgeous hard back copy of Peter Carey's classic (well, it did win the Booker in 1988, when I was a year old...) Oscar and Lucinda. Truthfully, I have attempted to read it twice before and the reason for my giving up was less to do with it being a weighty tome - I admit to carrying Clarissa around in a handbag for at least three months - and more to do with Carey's writing style and, dare I say it about a twice-Booker-prize-winner, more to do with his reluctance to get to the point.

Oscar and Lucinda: the story of two gamblers, one obsessive, the other compulsive. One a priest and one an heiress. The problem for me was that they didn't meet properly in the novel until at least half way through. Up until the boat journey to Sydney, the narrative drags its feet, letting stylised description get in the way of a flowing plot. At the point of the gamblers meeting, the novel took a miraculous twist and became less of a conflicting-religious-struggle caterpillar and more of a fantastical-bet-themed-tale of a glass church. Yes, a glass church. Without giving away too much, I was put very much in mind of Werner Herzgog's film Fitzcarraldo (which I watched in a pop up cinema under a motorway... don't ask.)

My impression of the closing chapters of this book was excellent - a must read. Overall, the novel is too varied in pace to leave an overall satisfying taste in the mouth.

Speed Reading

Having a Kindle has divided me in a way I'd never thought possible. Part of me loves it: how light it is, how I can turn the pages holding it in one hand, how I've read more in the last couple of weeks than I have done in the last couple of years... and yet I still miss books. Paper and bindings, their cover art, their smell. Something I've lost.

The first book I read on the Kindle (apart from finishing Love in a Cold Climate as I couldn't bear not to) was Jeanette Winterson's Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit. A classic autobiographical novel about Jeanette's experiences struggling between her religious mother and her sexuality, it is a good read. It is often difficult for writers to write convincingly as a child, and this is something Jeanette is obviously accomplished at (perhaps because these are memories, rather than a character's experiences), especially when compared to the likes of The Voluptuous Delights of Peanut Butter and Jam (suggested by a book group, I only made it past the first chapter).

One thing I think I did miss is the biblical knowledge to completely appreciate Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit. I have downloaded a copy of the King James Bible onto the Kindle - actually, I have a Penguin copy sitting on my bookshelf at home - as I have always meant to read the Bible and the Qur'an at some stage.

Faire du skiage 2012

John and I are skiiers. Not only that, but we ski every year in pretty much the same place, Meribel, in the French Alps. Whilst skiing is amazing, I do think that relating a skiing holiday to everyone back home is going to get pretty dull ("we went up the mountain... and then down the mountain...") so I'll refrain from giving a blow by blow account and settle for a generic shot of us on a ski lift, a shout out to Ben and Kim who were great company and a promise that something did happen on this skiing holiday that was out of the ordinary, although I won't mention what yet... watch this space.

Weekend favourites #1

Weather: From pouring rain to bright blue biting cold.

Book: Love in a Cold Climate by Nancy Mitford - fabulous period frivolity.

Scribble: My personal 100 greatest novels of all time list.

Screen: Sarah Lund catching murderers in The Killing.

Melody: John play Bach on the piano whilst I do the washing up.

Drink: Marmalade cocktails at Hawksmoor steakhouse.

Moment: Gorgeous Saturday evening sunset over Hyde Park from the top deck of the bus.

Taste: Peanut butter shortbread and salted caramel ice cream for Sunday pudding.

Valley of the Dolls

I feel guilty about carrying this around, sharing my handbag as it does with my new Kindle, but I know it won't take me long to finish. I devour the words, reading the beginnings of the next paragraph before I have fully finished the first one. Yes - this book is trashy, a guilty pleasure, fast food.

I must admit, I am a chick lit snob - usually Sophie Kinsella or Jodi Picoult or their ilk make me shudder with "she flicked her brown glossy pony-tail from side to side" sentences (A direct quote from page six of the aforementioned authors' books. Needless to say, I didn't read on to page seven.) but Valley of the Dolls is different, published as it was in the 1960s, it seems to have none of the trappings of over-adverbial, stodgy prose so often found in girl trash nowadays. The story is gripping, feminist, slutty; the characters have lesbian affairs, they make money, they take drugs, they are stars. It's not well written, but it's so, so good.

How did I come across it? It's not something I'd pick up in a bookshop; not the kind of book to be included in the List (although when I compile my personal List, it will definitely feature). It was recommended by the Reading Room, an optional add-on section to my new absolute favourite five minutes of every working day... the mailing list Emerald Street. It sends a magazine article to your inbox every day in time for the 11am tea break - an absolute gem of an idea from magazine-of-the-moment Stylist, which is always a brilliant read. Sign up, you won't regret it!

Happy Valentine

I open the door and the smell of good cooking fills the air. Inside, a bunch of white roses on the table and two champagne glasses await me, as well as a small box wrapped in pink spotty paper.

"Your proper present will arrive tomorrow," he explains, as a ruse. We pour the champagne, and I arrange the flowers in a vase. I ask him to close his eyes before presenting him with his (unwrapped!) present: his favourite board game. I slowly unwrap my present...

"I'm only good at buying electronics."

I shriek. I can't believe it! And yet I have reservations: will this mean the end of weekend bookshop browsing, paper and torn spines? No - I know that what it will mean is that I can read many, many long books on my weekly train journeys, without needing to lug them around in increasingly bulky handbags. He is a practical man, who will continue to indulge my romantic notions of paperbacks, whilst ensuring that my spine remains healthy...

Thank you, love.