NotJustAHatStand

Labels: Books, reading, tales from the draft folder

I know it's all been about my wedding recently, and I also know that wedding arrangements are not nearly as interesting to other people so today I thought I would write about my favourite topic (which I haven't done for a while now). Reading.

It's the one thing I always make time for. No matter how tired/ill/drunk I am, I cannot go to sleep at night without reading a couple of pages. Although I am busier at the moment than I have ever been in my life, I have two books on the go.

In preparation for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows coming out on Saturday (squee!), I'm re-reading the Half Blood Prince. I don't care what anyone says about the Harry Potter books, I love them. I KNOW I'm supposed to read grown-up books, and I KNOW Harry Potter is written for children, but for a bit of escapism you can't beat it. I wish I'd gone to Hogwarts.

I've also just started 'The Birds and Other Stories' by Daphne du Maurier. I've wanted to read the short story ever since I saw the Hitchcock film, because it made a big impression on me. I'm a big girl's blouse when it comes to creepy films so it was quite brave of me to sit up late one night, on my own*, to watch The Birds and I was so glad I did. It's not a scary film, but you get a sense of creeping dread from the first few minutes, and the tension grows and grows until you almost can't stand it. It's disturbing, but in a subtle way - there are no gory death scenes, no psychotic murderers (not human ones anyway) or evil men lurking in bushes watching the pretty (but stupid) girl get undressed while they finger their axe. It's a masterpiece of tension and I loved it.

*The Boy has a bit of a problem with birds and flapping things, so he made his excuses that particular night.

So when I read the introduction to the du Maurier book, where Alfred Hitchcock is quoted as saying that he only read the book once before he made the film**, I didn't know if the short story would meet my high expectations. However, I was reading it on the bus this morning and I nearly missed my stop because I was so engrossed, and I can't wait to pick it back up again.

Suspense? Check.
Creeping dread? Check.
Flocks of murderous silent birds? Check.

And I'm only on page 20.

**The full quote is "What I do is to read a story only once and if I like the basic idea, I forget all about the book and start to create cinema. Today I would be unable to tell you the story of Daphne du Maurier's 'The Birds'. I read it only once, and very quickly at that."

Labels: Books, Film

I used to be a one-book-woman. I'd start one book, and I wouldn't crack open another until I had finished the first.

These days though, I'm much more promiscuous.

I currently have three books on the go - Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift (which I carry back and forwards to work with me because it's a good handbag-sized book), The Old Curiosity Shop by Dickens (which sits on my bedside table), and the first part of The Lord Of The Rings (which also sits on my bedside table).

I read Gulliver's Travels when I was little, but it must have been a childrens version. I remember being fascinated by the illustrations of the tiny Lilliputians clambering over Gulliver when they discover him asleep in the countryside, but that's really all I remember. So when I started reading it again recently, I was a bit taken aback. Swift apparently wanted to piss some people off with Gulliver's Travels: 'to vex the world rather than divert it'. The blurb on the back cover, which I am just reading now, explains my feelings exactly: "'Gulliver' is a book to which the adult reader comes back with surprise and a fresh respect". You said it mate. It's not a kiddie's story about tiny people and giants - it's a satire. And a good one too.

The Old Curiosity Shop is my 'serious' reading. I am woefully ignorant of many classic books that I should have read long before now, so I'm trying to read as many as I can.

But I often feel the need for a bit of escapism at the end of a long day, which is where The Lord Of The Rings comes in. It's World Book Day today, and to celebrate the 10th anniversary they have compiled a list of 10 Books You Can't Live Without - LOTR came second.* Higher than the Bible, which came 6th. I've never read the bible, but I've read LOTR many times, and I suspect I'll read it many more times in my life. So I suppose it is one of the books I couldn't live without.

I do still get a wee twinge of guilt that I don't focus completely on one book any more, but if I'm going to get through the books on my shelves by the time I collect my pension (which will be a loooong time yet the way things are going in this country) then I'm going to have to step up the pace.

Maybe a book in each hand...?

*And I see the people who compiled this list are unable to spell 'Tolkien' properly. Good stuff.

Labels: Books, reading

Hoo-wee, it's been a while since I updated... I've been rather busy being a domestic goddess and generally not doing anything worth blogging about.

However I have realised that I've become worringly enthusiastic about shopping in charity shops. In particular, charity shops that have a large book section.

You may find this surprising in view of my previous purchases, as the books you get from charity shops are not necessarily the prettiest or in the best condition. But it doesn't bother me. I like my books to look like they've been loved and if they're a bit dog-eared then so much the better. However I noticed a sign in the last charity shop I was in that gave me pause - it said 'Buy them, read them, return them to us!'

But... but... I don't want to return them.

I don't have to return them do I?

#panics, clutching books to chest#

Ahem.

When I moved house I unfortunately put myself in very close proximity to perhaps the largest concentration of charity shops in Edinburgh and I've taken to poking around in them at the weekends. As a book-hoarder who loves the thrill of coming home from the high street with a pile of new stuff, this is awkward. My already overstuffed bookshelves are now tottering under the weight of my numerous bargains. The Boy's suggestions that I seek help are becoming increasingly stern and scary.

But it's ok, because I don't limit myself to books. Why, this very weekend I bought myself a (new) pegbag*:


















And my mum bought me this Hobbs handbag, bargain of the month at just £8:



















I also bought Human Traces and Middlesex for £2 each, but that's beside the point. For one thing it helped Cancer Research, and for another I needed a pick-me-up after spending the morning at a wedding fair with both mums, fighting off Bridezillas for the last bit of cake.**

*I know - a PEGBAG. All I need now is a pinny and a piping bag.

**Mmm, cake.

Labels: Books, Shopping

This weekend Fiance and I are planning to sort out the flat once and for all. When we moved in we unpacked in a kind of haphazard, 'fling-that-in-there-for-now' kind of way, but we've never gotten around to sorting stuff out properly. ConsequentlyI feel that we've not properly settled, because our stuff is just kind of strewn about the place and nothing really has it's own place. But what's really bothering me is the state of my books (I know - I bet you weren't expecting that). Like everything else they just got turfed onto the nearest bookshelf in any old order, which is in direct contract to my previous, strict alphabetical-by-author-surname system. And don't even get me started on my Excel spreadsheet - I've not updated it since July so I have no idea what my current total is, or even which books I can score off my Amazon wishlist before Christmas. As a person who buys a book (or two, or five) every couple of weeks, this means my spreadsheet is now dramatically out of date. But these things are all easily rectified.

Our lack of adequate storage for said books is a bit more problematic.

We own 3 and a half bookshelves, which isn't nearly enough as they're all full to the gunnels, and I have to dedicate one shelf to my fancy books as I can't bear to squish them in with all the scraggy old paperbacks. But we don't have any more spare WALLS on which to place additional bookshelves, so there are always stacks of books lying around (there's currently a pile of em on my kitchen table, for instance). This doesn't bother me but Fiance grumbles about it on a regular basis - he keeps saying that we're going to end up surrounded by the things, sitting on them, sleeping on them, using them for pillows and plates, and for keeping us warm at night.

Fiance and I differ slightly in our approach to resolving this - his solution? Stop buying books. At least until I've read all the ones I own. Whenever he says this I proclaim loudly and dramatically that I simply cannot stop expanding my library as this would be like his stopping following football (at which point he casts his eyes heavenward). It is true that I haven't read all the books I own, but I see this as a good thing - I will never be bored or stuck for something to read, and neither will he (he loves reading too, although it may not sound like it). My solution to the book storage problem is to call in a professional.*

I think the only way we're going to be able to store all the books we currently own, AND have room for all the ones I plan on buying in the future, is to have someone come and build us one he-uge bookshelf, and give the Ikea ones the old heave-ho. This sounds like paradise to me, living in a house lined with books. Unfortunately Men With Hammers cost money, and at the moment we have other things to spend our hard-earned on so it will have to wait. But I refuse to curb my bookishness, especially when there are so many bargains around (just the other day I bought Moby Dick by Herman Melville and Amsterdam by Ian McEwan in the charity shop for £3).

Fiance will just have to make his peace with it.

*And not a mental health professional to address my addiction, despite Fiance's opinion on the matter.

Labels: Book collecting, Books, Fiance, reading

Continuing yesterday's theme of books and bookishness...

I've been thinking about posting a meme on a regularish basis for a while now, but I always kind of forget about it. And they're not so popular any more - a few months ago I couldn't go a week without having to think about what my favourite cocktail was or my first pet's name or some such nonsense. So that doesn't bode well for my regular feature: Knowing Meme, Knowing You. But this one, of course, caught my interest to the point where I actually typed out my answers to the questions. I just forgot to post em.

1. Number of books owned
I don't know exactly, but over 300 - probably in the region of 320-330. I know this because I keep a catalogue in Excel (which is now sadly out of date due to house move but soon to be updated). That is the kind of sad freak that I am.

2. Last Book Bought:
Notes on a Scandal by Zoe Heller and Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. Both £2 from the charity shop.

3. Last Book Read:
The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro, and am now reading Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier.

4. Five Books That Mean A Lot To Me:

I had to resist the urge to pick five of my childhood favourites here, as they are the books that I can truly say mean a lot to me, so I've included a token grown up book.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood - the first Atwood book I ever read, and the subject of my RPR in Higher English.

Winnie The Pooh by A. A Milne - every child should read about the adventures of Pooh, Piglet and the other inhabitants of Hundred Acre Wood, before they are sullied by Evil Disney Pooh*.

The Hobbit (and LOTR) by J.R.R Tolkien - I love being able to escape to Middle Earth for a while.

The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame - more talking animals, what more could you possibly want?!

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott - I've lost count of the number of times I've read this. It's one of my all time favourite books, and the sad bit still has the ability to make me cry after all these years.

5. The book I’ve read more times than any other:

Probably either Little Women, Winnie the Pooh or Bill Bryson's Notes From A Big Country (now there's a book that'll make you snort tea up your nose)

6. Tag five people to continue this meme:
Vicki
Sarah
Unfortunately these are the only two bloggy friends that I have. I'm a Bloggy-No-Mates.

*Disclaimer: This is not the real Pooh. The REAL Pooh (before those Disney bastards got hold of him and turned him into the heinous, orange monstrosity in the above link) looks like this. This is something of a pet hate of mine, by the way, in case you hadn't guessed.

Labels: Books, memes, reading

Labels: Books

I don't know why I chose to write about Coco and her reproductive woes yesterday (as it's an ongoing problem for the poor wee sausage), when I had a very interesting and informative evening the night before. I guess I just got carried away with the Medical Marvel thing.

I was at the final event of the Book Festival's Autumn Series - Margaret Atwood reading from her newest book and talking with Jenny Brown (former director of the Book Festival and literary agent). I always try to see her when she's in Edinburgh (Atwood, not Brown), which thankfully she is quite often, and it's always worth the money. She spoke about the night she won the Booker (the award ceremony was taking place in the Guild Hall at the time of the event) and how awkward it was to not spill your veg with a camera hovering nearby.

I found it most interesting to hear about her approach to writing a novel. This is the bit I have trouble with (the actual STARTING of the thing). It seems to be:

1) start writing
2) figure out where you're going with it as you're writing, and
3) research it afterwards to make sure you've not written a load of tosh.

I've perhaps oversimplified (I really hope Margaret Atwood never stumbles across my dusty little corner of the web, I think she'd probably sue). As always though, I came away feeling inspired and thinking 'I can do that!'. But then I get carried away with everyday life and before I know it it's the weekend and I've not written a thing except some guff about my cat. I love my little Coco, but it's hardly Booker-winning material now is it?

During the question and answer session at the end, Atwood pointed out someone in the upper level who was being ignored every time they looked for another question from the audience. She obviously felt the injustice of this and when the Chair tried to go to someone else, Atwood pointed at this person and said, in her Canadian draaawl, 'you had a question, yell it out and I'll repeat it'. The question wasn't forthcoming so she said again 'just yell it out'. This went on for a minute or so (presumably while the person sat frozen with a rabbit-in-headlights look upon their face) and then 'where's that microphone-'. It was at this point that she realised she had been trying to coax the mike runner who worked in the venue, into asking a question! The poor man, being barked at by a scary haired Booker winner in front of 300 people.

He was probably a student just trying to make some beer money, but he got a little more than he bargained for.

Labels: Books, Margaret Atwood, writing