It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way….
After several failed attempts in the past decade, I have finally managed to finish this tale, albeit with much help from Audible’s Simon Callow reading the audiobook to me….
I don’t really have anything much to say about the book but I had really wanted to have those epic opening lines leave their print here, hence this post.
There were many enjoyable moments of Dickens’ brilliance throughout the book, and I know I have probably missed out on quite a few of them too in my not too attentive listening of the audiobook this time, because when I picked up my copy of the physical book and randomly flipped through, I came across this little gem which had completely escaped me.
Cramped in all kinds of dim cupboards and hutches at Tellson’s, the oldest of men carried on the business gravely. When they took a young man into Tellson’s London house, they hid him somewhere till he was old. They kept him in a dark place, like a cheese, until he had the full Tellson flavour and blue-mould upon him. Then only was he permitted to be seen, spectacularly poring over large books, and casting his breeches and gaiters into the general weight of the establishment.
My friend sent me this breathtaking view of Mt. Fuji from her room in Japan recently, and I did the only logical thing I could think of.
I sent her a book to go with the view.
……. and then went on to continue mentally teleporting myself to that bench. What bliss, to imagine being seated there with a warm mug of coffee (or green tea) and a book (or ten) facing that picture perfect view!
Anyway, as that is not to be my current lot in life, let’s drop back to my own ‘reality’ for now.
I have had not much to show for since the last post in regards to reading (both physical and audiobooks) due to unrelenting work deadlines and family obligations.
But as always, no reading doesn’t equal to no buying.
And so, here you are….. my latest stacks of beauties.
The Big Bad Wolf Box Sale was back in February, and I gave myself the added justification of it being my birthday month, so this felt kinda right. :p
SO many good finds this time around! Am happy to find a few Maeve Binchy and the Rosamunde Pilcher, who was a recent discovery for me when I listened to her Shell Seekers on audiobook last year. I had always imagined the book to be some cheesy, romantic fluff but was surprised at how impressed I was with the writing and ended up enjoying the book very much.
I love Hans Fallada. His Alone in Berlin remains one of my all time favourites and although I am usually put off by titles and books that suggests characters with excessive drinking habits and a lack of sobriety, (same reason for why The Great Gatsby with all the drinking binges and drunken scenes in it had left me with much distaste, even though I had loved the writing), The Drinker came home with me.
Not a fan (I think) of Jack Kerouac, but am definitely a big fan of the black and white Penguin Modern Classics editions so his Desolation Angels and Doctor Sax were picked up. The McCall Smith & Wodehouse are no-brainers, am always ready to add them to the growing collection.
Rose Tremain is a favourite and I have started a few chapters on Merivel which is actually a sequel to Restoration, and found myself very much at home and immersed in her seventeen-century England. The writing feels so contemporary despite the setting and it’s so fun & readable. I might have to seek out Restoration after this, I think.
Essays have always been one of my favourite forms of writing and so I was very happy to find both the Eugenides & Coetzee in the offering. The fact that I have read nothing from neither of them does not seem to matter as I have heard many good things about both.
William Trevor’s Selected Stories was another jackpot find, although I did think the cover was rather ugly at first, but the fonts and texture of its pages on the inside more than made up for it.
I have been wanting to read Jim Shepard’s The World to Come ever since watching the film version of it back in 2021. Loved the film, so well done. I had picked the book simply for its titular story and if the rest of the stories in this collection turns out to be good as well, that will be a bonus.
I was especially thrilled with these Virago editions of the Robinsons and couldn’t resist to grab them even though I already have other editions of Gilead and Home. They reminded me of the same appeal I had found in those early Virago editions of Sarah Waters’ books back then.
Still one of my favourite set of covers ever….
Birthday presents received!
Very happy to see my little collection of Everyman’s Library slowly growing….. The Diary of a Tuscan Bookshop has been on my wishlist for some time, can’t wait to savour it! Also, high time I get acquainted with Soseki and his masterpiece I Am a Cat.
Love the cover design on the box.
Found this Malcolm Gladwell boxset in pristine condition at a secondhand bookstore and was very happy to bring it home. I remember enjoying his writing when I first discovered him many years ago, and am looking forward to reconnect again.
Life has certainly not been a bed of roses over here, but one can still be thankful for all the small mercies and simple pleasures that can be found amidst the things of beauty sprinkled along the way….
Diaries begin. First, self-assessments, then by February a comfortable falling back into old habits. Sensible diarists like Lady Eleanor Butler had no truck with good resolutions and just settled down to a pleasant winter. ‘Freezing hard. Windy. Cold, but very comfortable in the dressing room and an excellent fire. Shutters closed. Curtains let down. Candles lighted – our pens and ink. Spent the evening very pleasantly reading Tristram Shandy aloud adjourned to the library. Worked – laughed.’
Self-lacerating diarists such as Katherine Mansfield tore them-selves to pieces. 2nd January 1922: ‘I have not done the work I should have done… This is very bad. In fact I am disgusted with myself. There must be a change from now on. What I chiefly admire in Jane Austen is that what she promises, she performs…’
Ah, if only we all performed what we promised, how satisfying this would be. Nature does. Bulbs tip the surface and will bloom, catkin stubs on the January branch will tassel. The sun just showing above the hill will run up the sky. I observe it, drinking tea by the window through which the old farmers stared, generation after generation. Same sun, same hill, and Shakespeare sixty miles away, writing A Winter’s Tale.
Ronald Blythe, ‘Next To Nature: A Lifetime in the English Countryside’.
Ah, if only we are more forgiving of ourselves and just learn to enjoy all the small moments of joy in our everyday….. That was probably how Lady Eleanor Butler managed to live and laugh to a ripe old age of 90 as opposed to the self-lacerating Katherine Mansfield’s short tragic life.
A merry heart does good, like medicine, But a broken spirit dries the bones.
Proverbs 17:22 (NKJV)
By the way, Blythe was one of my favourite discoveries last year. Am still taking my time and enjoying this volume slowly.
Sorry for the belated greetings…. I hope the year had ended well for all of you and is already off to a good start.
Personally, I am just slowly coming out from a season of grief following the unexpected loss of another one of my cats in early December. It was my third loss in just the span of the last six months and so it felt like the straw that finally broke the camel’s back. Lost my joy in most things on most days, hardly read anything and was just kinda down and out for the better part of the month.
Even the annual year end Big Bad Wolf Book Sale failed to provide the much needed cheer and comfort I was hoping it would. To say that it was a most underwhelming and disappointing affair would be an understatement.
The only consolation was that I had some vouchers that allowed me to pick a few books for next to nothing, and the venue of the sale was just next to my workplace so minimum effort was needed to check out the sale during my lunch breaks.
The haul.
I know i shouldn’t be complaining, really. But still….
An unexpected “other” book sale however, did manage to provide the much welcomed dose of dopamine.
Very happy with these finds – especially the one on cats.So glad to see this cover instead of the usual editions I’ve seen.
This will be my first Ondaatje.Looking forward to this Rappaport too.
Have read many good things about these two…. don’t they look good together?
Happy to add another Drabble to my shelves. And the Rogue Male might not have come home with me if the cover had been a different one. :p
Last year, fewer books were added to the shelves as compared to previous years, and even fewer books were actually read from the stacks. This year, more books are going to be added to the shelves no doubt, but hopefully even more will be pulled out and read from them.
That which has been is what will be, That which is done is what will be done, And there is nothing new under the sun.
Ecclesiastes 1:9 (NKJV)
The struggles and the issues may still be the same. But the approach towards them and the eventual outcomes need not be. I really think it’s possible that this year it will be different.
Wishing all of you, a year filled with possibilities.
Not to worry about the alarming title for the post…. that just happened to be the title of my current ongoing read – May Sarton’s memoir of her seventy eighth year, which has surprisingly turned out to be quite a comforting read.
And to echo Sarton’s words, a great deal has indeed happened in the months past since my last post.
A series of unfortunate events (I’ve always been curious about the Lemony Snicket books, by the way) that resulted in quite a bit of downtime and the need for recovery in the household.
Mum’s broken wrist.Multiple vet visits for multiple cats.My injured foot.
If only I could report back that all of us made it through to the other side safely, how wonderful it would be.
Sadly, that is not to be…. my dear Arctic boy didn’t make it.
And it was the hardest hit of all.
My only consolation was that he passed on while being held in my arms.
Rest well, dear boy….. till we meet again.
There are gaps of time into which we sometimes fall, when the pattern of our days is suspended. It happens when there is a birth or a death, an arrival or a departure, the moments either side of it becoming forms of descent and recovery, when we do not know quite what to do or how long this unexpected bewilderment will last.
Time stops for the dead, but it comes back again and again for the living. It is always there for us, and slowly we start to understand what it is like to live with our grief. We learn to be watchful, to breathe more carefully and smile more cautiously, to see once more even if we have been blinded by loss. We look steadily towards the advancing light.
It wasn’t until I wrote the title essay, “These Precious Days,” that I realized I would have to put a book together. That essay was so important to me that I wanted to build a solid shelter for it. I started writing more essays. […] Through these essays, I could watch myself grappling with the same themes in my writing and in my life: what I needed, whom I loved, what I could let go, and how much energy the letting go would take.
Ann Patchett, 'These Precious Days'.
I have been meaning to read Ann Patchett for a long time now… her non-fiction writing, that is – Truth & Beauty, in particular. While I still have yet to get to that memoir of her friendship with fellow writer Lucy Grealy, I’m glad to have finally gotten around to these essays and find that they do not disappoint.
As it happens, I have also been following some of her Instagram posts (@parnassusbooks) where she will make her bookish recommendations from her bookstore Parnassus Books, every Friday (usually with her dog in her arms), and thought she seemed like someone who is very down to earth, relatable and rather approachable.
Her voice in these essays match the IG persona I’ve come to be acquainted with, and going through this collection felt abit like getting to know a friend better. My favourite picks from the essays are the ones on Snoopy, her grandmother’s nightstand, and her three fathers.
Yes, in that order.
And speaking of precious days, thought I’d just conveniently borrow the title and share a brief summary of sorts for the days that have gone by since my last post.
Two particular highlights from books read/ listened to in the past months:
One of the only 2 precious copies of Persephone books that I own. Bought this more than a decade ago – a long overdue treat!Loved the cover maybe a lil’ more than the content. :p Still good, though. Had all the “the past is a different country” vibes.
Precious are the days where book mails are safely received! Received both these Christmas & birthday gifts from the dear Anna (@aroundtheworld.in800books).
(Fun fact: It was the discovery of these newly issued (back then in 2016) Penguin editions of Brookner at a local bookstore, that got my Instagram account started.)
Really looking forward to this!And this!
Had a quietly satisfying birthday, filled with happiness that came in scoops and boxes. :p
Managed to finally TNR (Trap-Neuter-Release) two stray kitties I have been feeding and gaining trust with over the past year or so. So thankful and relieved for the success, as this has really been something weighing heavily on my heart for a long time.
There were also some precious days of catching up with my best buddy who was back home for a short holiday. I am usually at my most relaxed and unguarded self when I’m with her (and with animals ! ) :p
Having to care for an aged parent with certain health challenges has not been easy, to say the least. Some days are manageable, and some days are just bad.
These were some of the precious ‘good days’.
Every bit counts.
Here’s to more of the good days, to us all! God bless….
Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake.
Thanks for the words of encouragement WP but this can hardly be considered as ‘good blogging’, let’s be honest. :p
Time flies, whether you are having fun or not.
Who would have thought this little space here would still be hanging around today, and not have gotten itself spun out of the blogosphere aeons ago……. when so many other things have been lost along the way, and so much of life has come and gone.
But come what may, I am going to keep this space going for as long as I can. It may be neglected at times, but it will never be abandoned for good. There are just too many bits and parts of me scattered over these (virtual) pages over the years that if I were to lose them, it would feel as if parts of me were missing too.
So, here’s to the next 13 (…. or 30!) years of this reader’s footprints. 😉
Now, back to the books.
My annual year end haul at the Big Bad Wolf Books Sale has been a significantly subdued affair compared to its glory days in the past. With the prices up and the books not as exciting nor appealing (to me), I could only come away with a handful.
5 books, to be exact.
5 beauties, nevertheless.
This has been on my wishlist for the longest time, and it was a happy sight to behold at the sale.Just recently finished (& loved) this on audiobook. Was very happy to spot this beautifuk edition (Frnech flaps & rough cut pages).A beautiful VMC hardback edition of Molly Keane. I still have her Devoted Ladies unread on the shelves.Adding on to my collection of Modianos. A lovely Margellos World Republic of Letters edition at a good price is always a good thing! Rather excited about this one. And it goes so well together with the earlier Auster that I found!
So, there’s the bulk of it for this round.
A somewhat disappointing affair, I suppose, but the consolation was that the sale was held at a venue just beside my workplace, so it was with minimal effort on my part to visit the sale during my lunch break every day of the sale and come away with nothing except the 5, which were all spotted on the first day itself.
Step softly, under snow or rain, To find the place where men can pray; The way is all so very plain That we may lose the way.
Oh, we have learnt to peer and pore On tortured puzzles from our youth, We know all labyrinthine lore, We are the three wise men of yore, And we know all things but the truth.
We have gone round and round the hill And lost the wood among the trees, And learnt long names for every ill, And served the mad gods, naming still The furies the Eumenides.
The gods of violence took the veil Of vision and philosophy, The Serpent that brought all men bale, He bites his own accursed tail, And calls himself Eternity.
Go humbly…it has hailed and snowed… With voices low and lanterns lit; So very simple is the road, That we may stray from it.
The world grows terrible and white, And blinding white the breaking day; We walk bewildered in the light, For something is too large for sight, And something much too plain to say.
The Child that was ere worlds begun (…We need but walk a little way, We need but see a latch undone…) The Child that played with moon and sun Is playing with a little hay.
The house from which the heavens are fed, The old strange house that is our own, Where trick of words are never said, And Mercy is as plain as bread, And Honour is as hard as stone.
Go humbly, humble are the skies, And low and large and fierce the Star; So very near the Manger lies That we may travel far.
Hark! Laughter like a lion wakes To roar to the resounding plain. And the whole heaven shouts and shakes, For God Himself is born again, And we are little children walking Through the snow and rain
G. K. Chesterton, ‘The Wise Men‘
Silent night, holy night All is calm, all is bright ‘Round yon Virgin Mother and Child Holy Infant so tender and mild Sleep in heavenly peace Sleep in heavenly peace.
Silent night, holy night Shepherds quake at the sight Glories stream from heaven afar Heavenly hosts sing, “Alleluia” Christ the Savior is born Christ the Savior is born.
Silent night, holy night Son of God, love’s pure light Radiant beams from Thy holy face With the dawn of redeeming grace Jesus, Lord at Thy birth Jesus, Lord at Thy birth.
*****************
…. may you sleep in heavenly peace too, my dear Kitto. (24.12.2024)
But he knew that time only moved evenly upon the hands of clocks: to men it can linger and almost stop dead, race on, leap chasms and linger again. He knew, with a little sadness, that it always made up its distance in the end. To-day it had travelled gropingly, like an engine in a fog, but now, with each passing hour of the holiday it would gather speed, and the days would flash by like little wayside stations. In a fortnight he would be sitting in this room on the last evening, thinking how the first night of the holiday seemed like yesterday—full of regrets at wasted time.…”
As always, I seem to have arrived a lil’ late to the party, and getting to things (or books) a lil’ out of season.
R. C. Sherriff’s ‘A Fortnight in September’ has been on my tbr list for a long time now, possibly more than a decade. And it was not until I started listening to it earlier this month that I realized I did not actually have a clear idea what the book was about. Or rather I was under a different impression of what to expect from it.
Well, whatever it was, was nothing at all to what I discovered…. which was nothing short of a most delightful surprise. 🙂
I am still not done with it yet, but the journey thus far has been most enjoyable and I am certain that this little gem will be taking its spot right up there among my all-time favourites, once the Stevenses’ fortnight is over.
Enter the unexpected – and I dislike the unexpected, unless I had the chance to prepare for it.
The fourth item I took out of my pocket was a postcard, closely written, and forwarded from our New York address of nine years ago. At the bottom of the hill, at the last edge of sun, in the smell of crushed eucalyptus buttons, I stopped and read it.
I started to read from the beginning, and it began to come back. Some people, I am told, have memories like computers, nothing to do but punch the button and wait for the print-out. Mine is more like a Japanese library of the old style, without a card file or an indexing system or any systematic shelf plan. Nobody knows where anything is except the old geezer in felt slippers who has been shuffling up and down those stacks for sixty-nine years. When you hand him a problem he doesn’t come back with a cartful and dump it before you, a jackpot of instant retrieval. He finds one thing, which reminds him of another, which leads him off to the annex, which directs him to the east wing, which sends him back two tiers from where he started.
Wallace Stegner, ‘The Spectator Bird’.
I did expect Stegner’s writing to be good.
I just hadn’t expected how good and how much I would love it.
And oh, my memory is definitely closer to that of a Japanese library than a computer! :p
