books

Believe it or not, Lou and I are not entirely focused on the purchasing of clothing online and talking about how lovely pictures of balloons, shoes and Paul McCartney are. Books are great also, and the covers are often very nice, as are the words inside them.

I have compiled a list of my favourites below. I wasn't an English major at uni, so don't expect in-depth reviews or reasonings. Indeed, I often find it really, truly difficult to justify why I like something articulately. So there'll be none of that.

In no particular order:
Harriet the Spy is dog-earred and water stained from dropping in the bath several times as a younger person. Probably in shock at her adventures! Ballet Shoes. The entire works of Paula Danziger, but mostly: Its an Aardvark Eat Turtle World, because I am a child of divorce; Can You Sue Your Parents for Malpractice? because I am a middle child; and Remember Me to Harold Square because it is my dream to go on the Serendipities' treasure hunt. A Room with a View, especially when George says his creed, especially because all the loose ends get tied up neatly in the end and especially because the Puccini filled soundtrack always plays in the back of my mind when I read it. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morisson. The Age of Innocence. The Big Sleep, even though I have no idea what actually went on in that book. "I don't mind if you don't like my manners. I don't like them myself. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them long winter evenings. And I don't mind your ritzing me, or drinking your lunch out of a bottle, but don't waste your time trying to cross-examine me." Milan Kundera. We went to the Museum of Communism in Prague (next to a McDonalds and above a casino)and the footage of the Velvet Revolution made me cry. Lots of Orwell, especially the essay Why I Write and the one set in Burma. Various novels by Jackie Collins, especially the sordid ones featuring accidental incest, evil siblings and murderers in Hollywood. I have a long standing crush on Will from The Subtle Knife even though he's twelve (twelve and SEXY.)Margaret Atwood. The Valley of the Dolls, Fear of Flying, The Women's Room. I wind up reading a lot of my Dad's old paperbacks because they have cool covers but they almost invariably wind up being about disaffected 24 year old men who are well-educated-but-in-a-rut and I lose interest. The Poisonwood Bible. I love my old penguin copy of an Iris Murchoch which features a dark babe with a samurai sword on the cover but unfortunately the name escapes me. I have a copy of The Devil Wears Prada under my bed to read when I'm drunk, even though I find it whingy and a bit awful and often wind up throwing it in a corner. I must like it if I keep it under my bed for easy drunk-reading access, though.

There's more but I can't remember them all right now.