Books

Why I Belong in Literary Hell

General Geekiness

Heh, I’m so rotting in literary hell for this. Which level, I’m not quite sure.

Movies I Prefer to the Books They’re Based On:

Atonement. Loved the movie. I thought it was beautifully shot, lovely costumes, great soundtrack, good acting. In the book? Well, I was bored stiff. I didn’t care for McEwan’s writing style; it was too flowery and overly descriptive for my liking.

The Princess Bride. The movie is so classic, it just wins. And in the book, the author’s butting in is annoying.

The Princess Diaries. The book doesn’t have Julie Andrews.

Bridget Jones’s Diary. Colin Firth + Hugh Grant + wimp fight> book entertainment value. I enjoyed the book. Wimp fight on screen is just awesome.

And the ultimate reason why I belong in literary hell…

Pride and Prejudice. Either the BBC one or the 2005 one. Try as I may, I just can’t stomach Jane Austen. I like her story lines. I like her characters. I dislike her writing style. I realize that she lived/wrote during the Regency so her style isn’t exactly modern. But there are PLENTY of books I enjoy from before or just after that time period.

Book recommendations, or, why I’m not terribly good at giving them to most girls

The Twirl and Swirl of Letters, What's On the Bookshelf?

If you hadn’t gathered by the name of the blog, my name, or the little cartoon, I’m a girl.

And I read constantly.

I’ve been asked on numerous occasions, “Gee, Beth, you like to read. What would you suggest that I/my daughter read?” by girls, usually a couple of years younger than I (or geared for girls younger than I).

“Well,” I ask, “what do[es] you/she like to read?”

Inevitably the answer is “Nothing” or “Twilight/Gossip Girl.”

“Urm,” says I, “I liked to read Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey/Maturin Series when I was a freshman in high school. Y’know, Napoleonic war stuff.”

“What else did you like?” they ask, hoping for something that does not feature small print, and a ship of the line on the cover.

“Ray Bradbury. Um, historical mysteries. Not really much girly stuff. I did read Meg Cabot in middle school, though. Maybe that?”

I worry librarians.

The Twirl and Swirl of Letters

I dashed to the library today, minutes before they announced that they were closing for the evening. But that’s okay. I was on a mission, questing for research  and a David Ogilvy bio. Alas, I didn’t find the latter.

I can tell the moment I step into a library. The librarians look up from their stocking the shelves, either to say hello (as at my favorite library), or figure out an escape route. Because without a doubt, within an hour I’ll be up at the check out desk with a stack of random books, or at least books on a subject that shouldn’t interest college-aged girls.

Band of Brothers, I could see today’s librarian thinking. Not Twilight? What is wrong with this girl? Oh good, she got a beading magazine and a U2 CD. Maybe these books are for her dad.

Wrong-o.

Libraries are to me as Wikipedia is to XKCD. The random books on the shelves prompt me to grab, open, skim, and either return or continue reading. Thankfully, I’ve stayed away from the foreign language section for the time being.

Books, books, more books, and yardsales.

General Geekiness

I love books. That shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone who has followed this blog.

Every few years, though, I go through necessary purges. I acquire books. I hoard them. I keep them locked up in a plastic box and forget about them.

We decided to have a yardsale this weekend. My contribution? Close to two hundred books.

As I was going through them, I smiled. Looking at the random collection of books I have, it comes as no surprise to me that my current WIP (or, research in progress) is set in WWII. I forgot how much I loved that era during elementary school/middle school. Its amazing how much I forgot over the years!

And yes, I’m selling them all.

What’s on the Bookshelf? Vol. 14

What's On the Bookshelf?

Up to 14 already? And I don’t even review every book I read (though it sure seems like it!)

The Irregulars by Jennet Conant is a remarkable story. Its the story of the British spy ring in WWII Washington, and focuses specifically on Roald Dahl (yes, he of James and the Giant Peach).

While I found Conant’s writing a bit prone to cliches (or at least over familiar turns of phrase) at times, the story line is absolutely fascinating. Truth really is more interesting than fiction. The characters are larger than life, but at the same time, real. Dahl, the charismatic RAF pilot. David Ogilvy, the polling genius. William Stephensen, the Canadian head of the BSC. And, of course, Ian Fleming.

There are some real laugh-out loud moments (intentional, I’m sure), as these amatuer spies are quite spirited.

I’d wanted to read this book since Entertainment Weekly reviewed it last year…and my roommate had me read some of Dahl’s adult short stories (including “Genesis and Catastrophe” which I urge everyone to read).

This book is really what got me thinking that my WIP should be set during WWII. I was half way there already. I just needed the proper encouragement.

And somehow, in one photograph and a paragraph, I got on a Leslie Howard kick. Must update my Netflix queue.

Recommended for any one who has an interest in WWII espionage or Roald Dahl.

What’s On the Bookshelf? Vol. 11

What's On the Bookshelf?

Earlier this week, I finished reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I’m glad that I waited a couple of days before reviewing.

The Road is the story of a father and son trying to walk to the coast several years after Earth dies.

CC//jcalyst

CC//jcalyst

My immediate thought upon finishing the book was that it was good and that the ending fit well (though I thought it was predictable).

I enjoyed reading it after getting over the initial difficulties with odd punctuation choices (wasnt versus wasn’t, no quotation marks or markers of who said what); after finishing, I thought, wow, this was a very good book.

Fast forward three days.

I concede that it was a good book, stripped of the “very” for one important reason.

There was no “how” or “why.”

The reader never finds out why Earth died. As a logically driven reader (and writer), this completely baffles me. I found myself caring more as to finding out why the human race is dying and why everything is dead than as to what happened to the main characters.

I’m not saying that my reasons are better than McCarthy’s (hell, he won a Pulitzer for this book). Reasons are an intrinsic part as to why things happen. But what point is there in caring if you don’t learn why you should care?