Hello all. I’ve been in a state of depression and panic lately (depressed panic or perhaps just panicked depression?) over our upcoming move to my parents’ place (they came down over the weekend with a truck and so all of our bookshelves but one and most of our books are at their place now, after much hard work on my part) and my husband’s ongoing health problems. So I’ve been avoiding blogging as one more stress while every day making up something new in my head to write about and finally decided I really might need to just talk to my friends for a bit! (that’s you)
I foolishly packed up all my books except for about 25, thinking there’s no way I can read that many in a month anyway, what do I need them for? All of their big unread faces just stress me out! Well as I am now discovering, books are for more than just reading! They are friends and now I don’t have my friend George Eliot in Middlemarch or my friend Miss Pettigrew in Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day or the Mitfords or even Charlotte Bronte in Villette… I finally remembered I still have the library though, so that’s some consolation.
So without those books, I have been madly rereading (for the second time this year) the Harry Potter series. I’ve even read a short guide to the series, complete with author bio and examination of the themes in the books. And my husband and I went to see the movie in IMAX a second time… So I’ve become a bit obsessed with that lately, but I’m also wanting something more satisfying, like a 19th century novel written by a woman. I can’t handle anything too stressful right now though, so although I’ve signed up for some Trollope reading, I may not be finishing it on time. Reading that back to back with Dickens just feels like too many Victorian men all at once and very thick big chatterboxes of men too!
Finally, as my favourite Jane Austen hero is Mr. Tilney of Northanger Abbey, I quite enjoyed seeing this on AustenBlog:
Hello ladies. Look at your Mister Darcy. Now back to me. Now look at Captain Wentworth. Now back to me. Sadly, those gentlemen are not me. But if they knew enough about muslin to buy their own cravats and were more nice than wise, they could be like me.
Look down. Back up. Where are you? You’re in the Lower Rooms with the gentleman your gentleman could be like. I’m asking you to dance. Unlike some gentlemen who refuse to dance, I love to dance, and you are handsome enough to tempt me.
What’s in your hand? Back at me. I have it. I’m reading that novel you love. I’m reading it to my sister.
Anything is possible when your gentleman is Henry Tilney.