This was my unloved sixth of the shortlist, so I’m reviewing it last. There’s not much to be said other than it wasn’t for me, and I didn’t like it. You might, though. Who knows. Read More Reading the Man Booker Prize 2014: We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler
I miss German Christmases. Read More Christmas vs. Weihnachten
As far as literary prizes go, We Need New Names has all the makings of a winner: its author, a 31-year-old Zimbabwean immigrant to the U.S., never planned a career as a writer, yet this, her first novel, has not only served as a form of catharsis for her, but allowed readers a look at a generation of people struggling with the realities of a country that promised freedom and brought despair. Read More Reading The Man Booker Prize 2013: We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo
Would you believe that this is only the second Neil Gaiman book that I’ve ever read? I know, I am disappointed in this reading gap too, as it has happened for no good reason. I enjoy Gaiman’s writing immensely, and his new novel, The Ocean at The End of The Lane did not disappoint.
I’m home. The sun is shining, and it’s all good, but after the greatest summer in my hometown, I feel I need a lot more time to properly arrive. I’m still coming to terms with all the memories that hit me around the head at every street corner. Suddenly, it seems impossibly hard to make your home elsewhere. Read More This Open Thread Wants To Write A Book
Hello m’dears, and Happy Monday! I’m writing to you from the past. Well, kind of. I’ve been staying in my childhood home for four weeks now; the weather has been glorious, and we’ve done a lot to bring back precious memories – zoo trips, ice cream by the fountain, and travelling old school in an actual train with actual opening windows and actual wind in our hair. Now my daughter has found my old scooter, and I’m constantly being quizzed about the old days. It might be getting a bit much, really – I can hardly remember what my real, grown-up home looks like! Read More This Open Thread Is Living In The Past
I blame the books. Jane Austen and Agatha Christie, I’m looking at you. Sternly. Read More Stranger in the Strangest Land
I was five and it was the letter “L.” Unlike most kindergarteners today, but like many of my kindergarten compatriots from back in the day, I was unable to read and write when I started school. Read More The Light Bulb Moment