THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN WRITE THE TRUTH

I don't have that many pages left of the Margaret Atwood book which feels horrible because it's so good. I bring it with me everywhere and always read it on the bus home; lovely. (Realise this is common behaviour, but felt like I needed to mention it).

I've been trying to videoblog about books but I can't seem to get my webcam to work. Might give it a try later on.

I GOT PAIN FROM LIVING THE MUNDANE

""You have a lot of friends," she says.
"Not a lot," he says. "You don't need many if there's no rotten apples.""

The blind assassin - Margaret Atwood

Today I'm sick but it's sorta OK, because I've been writing a bit on The creativity of the mess we make. Right now, though, I'm trying to get my head around how to open a certain paragraph; I know what I want it to be about, I just don't know how to start it. Oh well. I think I'm gonna go out for a smoke; maybe it'll come to me then.

I finished reading The private lives of Pippa Lee by Rebecca Miller this morning before I went to school. It was quite good, and had some pretty nice quotes as well:

"Sometimes, she found the mystery of other people almost unbearable to contemplate: rooms within rooms inside each of them, an endless labyrinth of contradictory qualities, memories, desires, mirroring one another like an Escher drawing, baffling as a conundrum. Kinder to perceive people as they wished to be seen. After all, that's what Pippa wanted for herself: to be accepted as she seemed."

"She enjoyed this removal from her surroundings even as she was immersed in them. She felt mute and contented, loaded with potential, yet entirely unproductive."

"She kept teetering on the brink of love with him, and even spent blissful hours in the zone of extreme fondness. But all it took was one flabby joke, a botched allusion, a moment of strained sincerity, and she felt a leaden seal forming in her gut, cutting her off from the suddenly former object of her affection as swiftly as a pair of scissors severing two sausage links. Back to square one."

Today I picked up Margaret Atwood's The blind assassin at Waterstone's, so I'll probably read that.

So, now I'm back in Cambridge after a lovely London weekend. Friday night we went to Camden, I literally stood on a bench in Regent's Park and sang Circle of life, that song from The Lion King. It was nice. Saturday we went to a lot of great book shops in Notting Hill and Soho, but I managed to only buy that book by Alex Garland I mentioned in the previous post. Kinda sad though; now that I've read that one, I've read everything by Garland. Weird.

YOU WAKE, YOU DIE.

Bought The Coma by Alex Garland yesterday and finished it this morning (like 20 minutes ago). It was really good. Will carry on with the Rebecca Miller book now. I'm in Notting Hill for the moment, but tonight I'm going home to Cambridge which will be good. I really like London and I love Palle, but I'm more of a small-town girl than a big-city one.

HOOCH IS CRAZY

So, hello dear book blog, I have missed you. OK; I'm in Cambridge now and it is pretty fucking awesome. I'm studying to get my CPE, so that's why I'm here. There are a lot of great book shops around here, I've already bought eight books (and I've only been here five days...)(don't worry Mom and Dad, they were all second-hand, I haven't spent that much money).
Anyway, these are the books:

Iris Murdoch - The sandcastle
Elaine Feinstein - The amberstone exit
Jean Cocteau - Les enfants terribles
Rebecca Miller - The private lives of Pippa Lee
Augusten Burroughs - Running with scissors
Jonathan Coe - The rotters' club
Lionel Shriver - Double fault
Daniel Mayhew - Life and how to live it

Sorta regret buying the last one, 'cause I don't think I'll like it. But the title was so good I had to have it. Reading The private lives of Pippa Lee. Seems good. Will go out for a smoke now. Tomorrow I'm going to London, I'm beyond excited. Haven't seen Palle in ages. Well, well, bye book blog, catch ya later!

SHYNESS IS WHEN YOU TURN YOUR HEAD AWAY FROM SOMETHING YOU WANT. SHAME IS WHEN YOU TURN YOUR HEAD AWAY FROM SOMETHING YOU DO NOT WANT.

I just finished reading Extremely loud and incredibly close. It was just as beautiful and heartbreaking as the last time I read it. I will soon start reading John Steinbeck's The winter of our discontent. Won't have any time today though, because I have to pack my bags and get ready for tomorrow as I'm moving to Cambridge in about 24 hours. Happy times; next Friday I'm going to visit my friend Pauline in London as well, which will be awesome.

Anyway, I've decided to only take three books with me because I can't even bring five, there's no room! So I'll take Doris Lessing's Volume one, The winter of our discontent and Curtis Sittenfeld's Prep. I really do want to bring The bell by Iris Murdoch as well so maybe I will. I'll make sure I get myself a library card pretty quickly though.

TOO FAMILIAR TO BE STRANGE, AND TOO EXCITING TO DREAD. BEFORE LONG, IMPOSSIBLE NOT TO ENJOY.

Just finished re-reading Alex Garland's The beach. God, that book is so fucking good. So fucking good. So fucking good. God! I love it to bits. Now I'm going to read another favourite book of mine, Extremely loud and incredibly close by Jonathan Safran Foer because I can't take these two books with me to England (no room), so I have to re-read them. Otherwise I would probably regret it.

"Fucking New Guy? Yea, though I walk through the valley of death I will fear no evil, for I am the evilest motherfucker in the valley.
New to what?"

The beach - Alex Garland

Stopped reading The talented Mr. Ripley, re-reading (for the hundreth time) the brilliant The beach instead.

I FINISHED MY WORK (BANGS TABLE) WHATTUP?

Since I've been spending most of my time shouting "But I'm not a telemarketer!" into phones (in other words, I've been working) lately, I haven't really had time to read. But, as I need to get into reading mode again before I drive myself crazy with my self-obession, I will devote all of tomorrow to reading. I have to run some errands though, but most of them involves queues so I will just bring the fucking book and read it while waiting. But actually, as I'm typing this, I realise that I will probably spend most of that time enjoying my new iPod. My old one broke down a few weeks ago (a sad face appeared and that was it: what's up with that?) which may be the saddest thing that happened to me all summer. Most of the other things I took in stride but being robbed of my music was terror (as you can see, I'm very modern in my angst). Anyway, bought a new one this Monday; life is good again; however, will (must) read anyway (note to self).

Oh, and another thing that has prevented me from reading, is carrying boxes full of mail. God, they were heavy. But I'm beast you guys, you just don't know!

I'm currently reading The talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith.