monsave

M itibaren Barota, Himachal Pradesh 176049, Hindistan itibaren Barota, Himachal Pradesh 176049, Hindistan

Okuyucu M itibaren Barota, Himachal Pradesh 176049, Hindistan

M itibaren Barota, Himachal Pradesh 176049, Hindistan

monsave

I have always been conflicted about Hemingway. He is by all accounts an amazing writer- his work can be read and reread and still yield as much on 20th read as it did on the first time, not that I could ever bring myself to read Hemingway 20 times. The trouble for me is content. In my well-read, feminist, but hard to offend opinion he is a chauvinist, pretentious bastard; however, he is also one of the greatest writers of the the twentieth century and even I would love to be able to have half of his prudence when it comes to prose writing. This conflict of mine is never more hightened than when I read 'A Movable Feast'. As Hemingway's autobiography it is both beautifully written and highlights what an asshole this guy really was. It's so full of macho bullshit sometimes that I have to focus on what he his words and style purely because he is such a dick! PS- sorry about the swearing, but he genius masked behind a pig makes me angry!

monsave

** spoiler alert ** When sensation novels burst upon a quiescent England these novels became immediate best sellers, surpassing all previous book sales records. However, high brow critics writing in academic journals of the day decried the phenomenon and criticized its practitioners (and readers) in the harshest terms. The added noriety derived from reading the novels probably served only to contribute to their popularity. I'm so far behind you all that I am going to skip the introduction and just dive straight in sans background information. So what have we got... Volume One, Chapter I, Lucy. It lay low down in a hollow, rich with fine old timber and luxuriant pasture; and you came upon it through an avenue of limes, bordered on either side by meadows, over the high hedges of which the cattle looked inquisitively at you as you passed, wondering, perhaps, what you wanted; for there was no thoroughfare, and unless you were going to the court you had no business there at all. 'kin'ell - that's an Eliot sentence if ever I have read one! --- espalier - a trellis on which ornamental shrub or fruit tree is trained to grow flat --- coeval - contemporary: a person of nearly the same age as another --- --- This was in my post box when I arrived home from work so I'll just finish this (demon booze) glass of white wine, have a little sloosh then dive into it.

monsave

Not very spooky, but extremely funny.

monsave

The first thing I noticed about this book is that it was reviewed by Barbara Bush, and her review made me throw up in my mouth a little. (In case anybody is interested, when I hear the name "Barbara Bush", I hear again Barbara's voice on the radio during the aftermath of Katrina, saying how the shattered former New Orleanians at the Houston shelter "never had it so good." I will never forgive her for that. And Laura! Laura couldn't even remember the name of the hurricane) Somehow this book had that weirdly clueless quality that I associate with the Bushes. I feel a little bad about saying that; it's a sweet little book, and clearly the protagonists (Denver, 61 and black and homeless, and Ron, 55 and rich and white) tried to be as honest as they could in telling their stories. But this is a memoir, and what makes memoirs resonate is complete honesty: telling the bad as well as the good. Ron and Denver try to tell the bad and the good about themselves, but they just can't bring themselves to say anything bad about Ron's wife Deborah, whom they both view as a perfect saint. Maybe she was all they say she was; but humanity, not divinity, is what makes saints interesting. If you leave out their warts, they become two-dimensional, and that's how Deborah comes off; and that made the whole story kind of...precious. And I don't mean that nicely.