Jumped Off The Page

[Leslie]

This will probably not interest most of you but I had to share the opening paragraph of the Michael Innes mystery I just started, A Night of Errors:

"The Dromios came to England at the end of the sixteenth century, the precise date being probably 1592. There is no certainty on where they came from -- Ephesus and Syracuse have both been suggested -- but historians of the family admit that they seem to have been persons somewhat below the middle station of life, if not of actually servile condition. In England, however, they prospered, and already in the reign of James I were importing wines in a large way. On the strength of this they married first into the London citizenry -- the Frugals, the Hoards and the Moneytraps -- then into the landed gentry -- the Mammons, the Overreaches, the Clumseys and the Greedys -- and finally into the fringes of the aristocracy itself -- the Nolands, the Littleworths, the Rakes, the Foppingtons and the Whorehounds."

ROTFLOL!! Those names! So hilarious :)

[Charbel]

Leslie wrote: "This will probably not interest most of you but I had to share the opening paragraph of the Michael Innes mystery I just started, A Night of Errors:

"The Dromios came to England at..."

It seems odds but those names reminded me of those of the hobbit families from Lord of the rings, particularly Littleworths and Whorehounds (creative name!).

[Leslie]

You are right, they are similar to some of the hobbit names.

[Charbel]

Came across this in Finders Keepers by Stephen King:

"For readers, one of life's most electrifying discoveries is that they are readers-not just capable of doing it (which Morris already knew), but in love with it. Hopelessly. Head over heels. The first book that does that is never forgotten, and each page seems to bring a fresh revelation, one that burns and exalts: Yes! That's how it is! Yes! I saw that, too! And, of course, That's what I think! That's what I FEEL!"

[Leslie]

Nice quote Charbel!

[Evelyn]

I love this Charbel, that's it exactly!

[Leslie]

This isn't exactly what the thread is for, but this jumped off the page to me: in reading Cop Hater on my Kindle, there is a passage giving the autopsy report on the victim which includes the sentence:

"Approximate weight 210 pounds; height 28.9 cm"

LOL!! The victim is only 11 inches tall! I assume that he was 189 cm (1.89 m) because 289 cm would make him a giant...

[Charbel]

Leslie wrote: "This isn't exactly what the thread is for, but this jumped off the page to me: in reading Cop Hater on my Kindle, there is a passage giving the autopsy report on the victim which i..."

That has got to be the funniest printing error out there! I'm just picturing someone who is 210 pounds but only 28.9 cm tall! This made my day, thanks Leslie.

[Leslie]

You're welcome Charbel :-)

I am still chuckling over it! Sadly though it shows how incompetent Americans are with the metric system that no-one caught that error in proofreading.

[[deleted user]]

"To be or not to be - that is the question." Who belongs?

[Leslie]

" 'There can't be a fête at Allington. A death yesterday, and a fête worse than death today: it just won't do.' Appleby paused, but this fatigued joke raised no mirth in Judith."

It certainly raised some mirth in me!! Once again Michael Innes' witty writing tickles me... this time in Death By Water (also known as Appleby at Allington).

[Charbel]

Leslie wrote: "" 'There can't be a fête at Allington. A death yesterday, and a fête worse than death today: it just won't do.' Appleby paused, but this fatigued joke raised no mirth in Judith."

It certainly rai..."

I chuckled.

[Leslie]

I am reading The Tin Drum (translated by Breon Mitchell) -- I am not sure I understand it but this sentence I read today is wonderful!

"How often I was overcome by sleep as she auscultated my small and supposedly ailing body: a shallow sleep, born from the folds of white fabric, a carbolic-cloaked sleep, a dreamless sleep; unless in the distance her pin expanded into who knew what: a sea of banners, an alpine glow, a splash of poppy field, ready to revolt, who knew against whom: against red Indians, cherries, nosebleeds, against cockscombs, red blood cells, coalescing to a red that filled my vision and gave background to a passion that I found, both then and now, quite understandable, but could not name, because the small word red says nothing, and nosebleeds do nothing, and banners fade, and if in spite of all I still say red, red won't have me, turns its coat: back to black, the Cook is coming, scares me yellow, makes me blue, blue won't do, blue's untrue, turns me green, green grows the grass above my grave, green turns me white: calls me black, black scares me yellow, yellow makes me blue, blue won't turn green, green blooms me red, red was Sister Inge's pin, the red cross she wore, to be precise, upon the washable collar of her nurse's uniform; but things seldom stopped with this most monochromatic of all images, nor did they in the wardrobe."