For the first three months of this year I didn’t read much at all, because I was doing an intensive university course that proved to be very intense, which meant that when I got home all I could bring myself to do was stare at Netflix.
Now, however, I’m back in the swing of reading – for the moment, at least – so here’s what I read last week. Read more
There was something about it that jumped out at me. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to buy any more books for a while, because my to-read pile (well, my three to-read piles, if we’re being accurate) is really rather large.
But the title – beside myself, all in lower-case font – and the bright blue cover, and the little stick person on the side, intrigued me.
Oh well, I thought, why not?
And I got home, and I was tired because things are tiring at the moment, and I ran a bath, and I thought, Maybe I’ll read the nice new book instead of the forensics book that’s next on my list.
So I did. And it was Good.
Yesterday evening I went to Whole Foods. I walked up and down the aisles of overpriced – but admittedly beautifully presented – produce, basket draped over one arm.
There! The sweet potatoes. I went over and stood in front of them for a while. They were huge! Much bigger than normal sweet potatoes.
A witch is born when a candle is placed in a paper lantern and flown into the sky. Her first view of the world – not when she opens her eyes, for that happens much later, but when she becomes aware – is the knowledge of how it feels to float. Flying through the air on a candleholder, the witch feels the wind around her, and begins to understand.
I’ve read a lot this year. Nothing has really jumped out at me as being life-changingly amazing: I haven’t read anything comparable to The Rosie Project or The Humans in 2015.
However, there have been some good ones. Here are a few of my favourites.
She sat in the bath. The window was closed, and inside the house it was silent. The only sound was the faint rustle-pop of the bubbles and the swish of the water as she straightened her legs.
The girl stood outside the telephone box.
It was raining; one of those English nights where the light turns everything blue.
The girl was small. She could just about reach the handle of the red door behind her, but it was too heavy for her to pull open. She’d tried. It had earned her a stern look from inside the box.