Tuesday, 1 September 2009
Fifteen Books That Shook My World...
I first saw this Meme over at my dahlink Saz's, and it came to her via big, bold Suldog and enigmatic Lime...
I adore books, and it never seems out of place to blog about them... Endlesslessly, as we all do from time to time... de temps en temps, mes bloggy dust-covers...
From Fhina's childhood, when we were being forced to read Watership Down at school, which I hated, and have to stuff my fingers in my ears and go 'La, la, la, la, la,' whenever I hear Art Garfunkel singing, 'Bright Eyes...', I chose this for myself from the school book club, The Owl Service (1967) by Alan Garner... An adolescent fantasy (which frit the life out of me), based on some of the stories linked to The Welsh myths Mabinogion, medieaval Welsh manuscripts... I didn't fully understand it then, but it enchanted my imagination and it spoke to me in my early teen years... Perhaps I need to read it again.
The Borrowers, by Mary Norton (1952). Once again, a fantasy. I hardly ever read fantasy novels these days... but my imagination must have been twitched by these novels, read while in my formative years... Hence being as mad as a box of frogs these days... I have literature to blame! I loved the inventiveness of the Borrowers, and their lives hidden from the view of humans.
A Gathering Light, also known as A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly. Based on the Adirondack Big Moose Lake murder case of 1906, but concerned more with the life of a young girl who gets caught up in it. I found it haunting and spell-binding.
Persuasion by Jane Austen. The first Austen novel that ever wrapped me in its vest of cotton muslin, covering my hair with lavender and frosting me with ancient Georgian dust, embuing in me a wish for life-long romance.
Meh, tant pis! You can't always get what you want..., as le Mick once lip-synched!
Bleak House, by Charles Dickens. If you never heard me tell of this before now, I once shuttled my then three year old son, Grizz, around Dickens' home in Holborn, London. One of the colourful staff whispered to him in an old West Country accent... "D'you'm like ol' Charlie Dickens, then boy?!"
Perhaps I am (after all) to blame that my Teenager has only ever read one novel? And that a Terry Pratchett I bought for him?! No-one tells Victorian stories as well as Dickens, right? The fogs, the atmosphere, the mysteries..., and the bits that go nowhere because, writing for perodicals, he sometimes forgot some of the plot!
I know just how that feels... Have you caught my last two ramblings over at Mad Manic Mamas?
I cannot leave today without my heart's favourite book, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. Need I say more?
You know it, I hope... If not, read it now! Fhina is watching, mind!