Put Off -noun 1....also, set aside. to put out of the way; place to one side: Put aside your books and come for a walk.
This book has always put me inPut Off -noun 1....also, set aside. to put out of the way; place to one side: Put aside your books and come for a walk.
This book has always put me in such a...well. One thing before I start on my before review..who says I cannot walk and read? 6 miles a day, every day. Hah!
This book has always put me in such a tremor since the day I encountered this gothic Yahoo, this towering Hun (yes, they all mean the same thing in the Thesarus). There is no other dead white male who bothers to cool my coffee right quick (okay, it's an exaggeration, Milton makes me squirm too). But in the event of one close patron's death, I decided to honor them with putting myself to the task. The task.
What my purpose of getting a dual copy when I only managed to read one, and knew ahead of time I would only read one, is beyond me. But I can say this: I owe Charles Dicken a fervent and eternal apology. And also to my friend who I am most certain didn't go up there so she is more than happy to meet me down there. Demned 'ooligan.
For as long as I have avoided Dickens, you'd think I'd like him more. Or at least, more than I think I do at the moment. I grew up hating this guy. And hate is not a strong enough word, it's used way too much. I was venemous towards Two Cities and little Ollie. First time I took pleasure in bad mouthing a made-up person.
Dickens loped along the to-read list with Dee Brown, William Shakespeare, Anton Chekov (who I will most likely sink my teeth into next), and Elizabeth Gaskell. And, as I quite spiritually found, that was a good thing. It was the plainest thing: I should have waited. From all my bookish friends, I have not heard that. But then, they don't remember half the character quirks or memorable dialogue either.
There are certain books that must wait upon our shelves until we are older. Some, when we are MUCH older. Trying to conquer Great Expectations at 11 was not a fabulous idea. It was just pretentiousness.
So, Great Expectations..and part of Two Cities (aye, poetic souls in authordom spit fire at me). I do believe I have yet to suck out all the poison in my snake bite. Pip, to me, is indestructibly cute. Couldn't find a better word for the little scrapper. His voice charms one, I think, though the beginning was droll. ooh, poor me. My sister the BMW gives licks much oh, much too sharp. Or something of that rot.
Further down the supposedly straight path: Pip gets in some more trouble, there's mist, a creepy lady of gentle-lady upbringing, and her beastly little ward. Admittance: I'm not much of a fighter. More of a runner. But I felt there should have been some root pulling going on here. I was pretty well dazzled by Dickensian language. I was hoping to be, as famous as his style made him. But the four stars was really for Tale of Two Cities, which I won't be able to finish in this edition, but I have a scrappy hardback that will soon assuage my fretting. Hopefully. ...more
Of Proust: squelching shape-up shoes. Dangit! Needing to go and buy heavy cream for the chilled quiche. A.S. Byatt: dealing with smog-sickness on a GerOf Proust: squelching shape-up shoes. Dangit! Needing to go and buy heavy cream for the chilled quiche. A.S. Byatt: dealing with smog-sickness on a German bus, annnnd I finally basted myself with the mustard (if confused by 'the' in bold, see your funds for traveling details. You'll understand when you eat it). Jane Austen: I had a black eye. My first. And I was grumpy, so, I put her on the shelf and forgot to read her until the last minute. My best bookmark? Yeah, the book had a retribution nom-nom-nom session.
There are many, many others I can remember in my 'firsts.' And yes, I believe remembering the firsts is essential to literary development. Or at least, memory retension. I forgot about the browning butter next to the no-hope-in-hades-you-can-save-it scalded roux. But I somehow never misplace the who, what, where, when, why, if, and, although, or because of my first times.
Poor Annette, she will be forever tied with deer refuse (berries can't get any earthier). I read The Silver Kiss with my plump tween legs swinging down from the comfy camp chair I was half-slumbering in. As a future addendum, I note that this was to be the decent for me from 'good' books for a while. Silver Kiss was my first succubus novel (if they even deserve to be called novels. The idea ain't that new). The concept of snapping things so easily, like mantis thin pencils, was not an idea that my soft head was able to dispel for a while. It was so alluring, to think that there was this fictional being who lived as long as haters permit.