A Work in Progress

September 16: Reading Notes

My 'reading plate' (you will be unsurprised to hear) is pretty full at the moment.  I'm hoping to finish a few books this week for readalongs, start a couple of new books for other readalongs and continue making progress in a few others.  Pretty much standard fare anymore.  I am very good, if only figuratively, at juggling books these days.

On the reading agenda this week?  Let's see. 

Yesterday was the official kick off to the Mary Stewart Reading Week which coincides with her birthday tomorrow.  I'm nearly finished with her 1965 novel Airs Above the Ground, which is set in Austria and has a wonderful suspense-filled story which is in part about the famous Lipizzan stallions of Vienna.  I had hoped to read a second novel in honor of the reading week, but I think I will save it for my upcoming vacation.  It's nice to have a Mary Stewart novel to look forward to.  I just need to decide which one to read.

I think I am actually going to manage to finish reading one of Cornflower's Book Group reads before the actual discussion.  I always have so many good intentions, but then falter in the execution.  You know how that goes.  I've been enjoying Jane Gardam's Crusoe's Daughter, which I read is Gardam's own favorite amongst all her books.  Polly Flint is such an interesting and likable character.  "Yes, I see" she often says.  And I think indeed she does despite having no real education.  Her guiding light, so to speak is Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe from which she finds so many universal truths.  Good books do that to you, I think.

Cornflower has already picked out October and November's books, Isabel Colegate's The Shooting Party and Sei Shonagon's The Pillow Book, both of which I have on my own TBR piles so hope to join in with each month respectively.  Such tempting choices.

I've been quite slowly and steadily reading Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy quietly behind the scenes here.  And I think I will actually even be ready at the end of the month to discuss (or more likely follow the discussion online--again behind the scenes) at the end of the month with Dovegreyreader Scribbles.  The first reading goal is to finish the first two sections, of which I have a mere fifteen pages to get through.  So far, so good, and already keeping on track.  Alas this is a year long reading project so fingers crossed I can keep going and keep up.

My reading of Charles Palliser's The Quincunx continues apace.  I have just over three hundred pages to go, which seems like a good dent in the original 850 or so when I started.  I tend to run hot and cold with the Palliser.  I needed a little break from him the last few days, but now it is back to business.  I am reading along with Buried in Print who is planning on finishing the book this (RIP) season (so must see just what that entails and how quickly).  To be honest I am happy to move it along and finish it sooner than later.  It's a book I am enjoying, but . . .  You know how it goes sometimes with certain books, right? 

As for my new books this week?  My latest postal book came in the mail last week.  I will be starting it very soon.  (If you are curious what it is, you can click on the link--I don't want to give away any details to anyone who will be reading it later).  Another bookish book.  It seems like a perfect reading pair to the Gardam novel, don't you think?  I had not heard of the book before, or have read the author, but I am quite curious about it.

I also have pulled out the next Literature and War Readalong book,There's No Home by Alexander Baron.  It sounds as though this is a rediscovered classic and the setting is WWII Sicily.  I've read so little about the war from the Italian perspective that I am very much looking forward to this.

I finished Virginia Woolf's Flush last week.  I probably won't get to write about it this week, though I hope to very soon.  What a life Flush led, kidnapped not just once but three times and held for ransom.  The book has a most excellent introductory essay, too.  I mentioned that I was going to do a companion read, and have now got Leonard Woolf's The Wise Virgins on my nightstand just waiting to be cracked open and started.  Of course Olivia Laing's To the River rounds things off nicely as well--so this might just perhaps turn out to be quite the Virginia Woolf reading month in its own way.  There is, however, no rush or deadline on these two books so will continue to read them at my leisure.

My dilemma over which library book to start reading was solved without too much difficulty.  In the end I have chosen Hannah Kent's Burial Rites, which just a few chapters in, I think will be just the right fit.  I wonder if I can count it as a RIP read?  It is a true crime story of sorts (a fictionalized account of a crime that occurred in Iceland).

I'm contemplating a new RIP read but while I'm thinking I have been reading Wilkie Collins's novella, The Haunted Hotel, which will be going back and forth to work with me this week. 

These books should pretty much take up all my reading time, which is whenever I can squeeze in a quiet bookish moment throughout each day.  I might dip into the Pilcher or one of my Canadian reads. 

I was just thinking how well I have been doing and how amazingly caught up I was feeling.  But there is always a book or three that suffers.  I'm afraid I have been hugely neglectful of my Melville House novellas and my NYRB Classic.  Maybe next week should be devoted entirely to them?

If I could do without that pesky sleeping thing, I just might.  Unfortunately some time and attention needs to be spared elsewhere, eh? 

Just a few side notes now, reading/book-related, that I came across in my own online reading yesterday:

Thanks to Teresa at Shelf Love for the heads up on the autumn 2014 (boy, does that ever sound so far away, but still it's on the horizon!) release of Sarah Waters's new book (as yet untitled) which is set in 1922!  "Vintage Sarah Waters"!  However will I be able to wait that long?

Another serendipitous find concerning Virginia Woolf (via the most excellent Blogging Woolf) . . . Virginia Woolf is going to make an appearance on the new season of Downton Abbey!  Season four of Downton begins next weekend in the UK.  Lucky ducks!  All of a sudden I am having strange (not so strange really) desires to start a serious Virginia Woolf reading project . . .  (She would be in good company since Anton Chekhov has been much on my mind of late, too.  More about all that later, though).

And one more thing via The Literary Saloon.  I thought it interesting to hear that the Man Booker is going to allow US entries.

Lots of interesting bookish things going on!

So, what's on your reading plate this week?

Short Story Sunday: The Signalman

This weekend's short story, "The Signalman" by Charles Dickens first appeared in the Christmas edition of the literary magazine All the Year Round in 1866.  The inspiration for it likely came from an actual incident that occurred several years earlier when two trains crashed in the Clayton Tunnel (picture below taken from the Wikipedia).  The tragedy would have been fresh in readers's minds.  In this case several accidents are presaged by the appearance of a ghostly specter always resulting in death.

"Helloa!  Below there!"

An unnamed narrator calls out to the signalman who is taking care of the entrance/exit of a railway tunnel located in what's known as a "railway cutting" (the bit that's cut away into a mountain so the train can pass through).  Strangely the man does not look up or turn around but looks intently into the tunnel.  He calls out again and asks for permission to descend and only after a pause does the signalman motion for him to come down.  It's a deep and narrow cutting made into clammy stone and the hike down is unusually precipitate.

The signalman is a dark, sallow man with a dark beard and heavy eyebrows and he watches with great expectation as the narrator climbs down.  One hand rests on his chin and the elbow of his other arm rests in his right hand in such an attitude that the narrator wonders at him.  It's a lonely and solitary place, dismal with the walls of the sides dripping wet almost like a dungeon with only a narrow bit of sky over head. 

"So little sunlight ever found its way to this spot that it had an earthy, deadly smell, and so much cold wind rushed through it that it struck chill to me, as if I had left the natural world."

And the signalman is curious in his demeanor.  The two talk about the signalman's work which is tedious at best but he seems to hope for little else having wasted his educational opportunities.  And he is greatly troubled by something.  He agrees to try and explain if the man ever returns, which he tells the signalman he will.  The following night he will come back when the signalman is on duty, but the signalman makes him promise not to call out or gesture to him when he returns.

The next night the signalman tells his tale of a ghostly apparition who's appearance presages a death in the near future.  On two occasions he has seen this ghost and like the narrator has "helloa-ed" to the signalman, and then covered his face in a way that portends an awful tragedy, hence his reluctance and strange behavior when he first met the narrator.  First two trains collided and then a young woman died on a train while passing through the cutting. 

Of course the narrator is dubious of the claims the signalman makes.  It's a dismal place, dark at night and surely it is easy for man's imagination to run away from him in a lonely place like this.  When the signalman tells him that just this week the ghost has returned and is surely foretelling yet another tragedy the narrator is skeptical, but the signalman is convinced.

"'What is the danger?  Where is the danger?  There is danger overhanging somewhere on the Line.  Some dreadful calamity will happen.  It is not to be doubted this third time, after what has gone before.  But surely this is a cruel haunting of me.  What can I do?'"

He fears that if he tries to warn those down the line no one will believe him. 

I won't spoil the ending, but there is an ironic twist.  Is it simply coincidence that things finish as they do? 

The story has been adapted to both film and radio and would be a great one to listen to on a cold winter's night, I think.  I am somewhat ambivalent about Dickens, but the story was pitch perfect as a good haunting goes.  Nicely atmospheric and well told.  The illustration above by Edward Gorey captures the mood perfectly, too.

Next up in The Haunted Looking Glass is a story by L.P. Hartley.  I'm already looking forward to it!

An Embarrassment of Riches?

As cheesy as it may sound, however poor you might be, with a library card in hand you are always rich.  Rich in books as you can see here!  The week started out with a mere two books on the library holdshelf (and both were books that had previously been returned for lack of time to read them . . . I thought I might be able to squeeze them in easier now . . . ), but when I looked yesterday afternoon the two books had grown by an additional eight which you see here.  I swear I didn't request them all at once, but Murphy's Law states that they will all arrive together en masse.  So, when it rains it pours, and I am swimming now in library books. 

I'm not complaining of course, but I do wish I could grow my free time, too, in which to read them all.  So now I must skim, peruse, dip into, study and generally agonize over which I want to read (sooner than later) pick up first to read.  From top to bottom I have to choose from:

The Affairs of Others by Amy Grace Loyd -- "A mesmerizing debut novel about a young woman, haunted by loss, who rediscovers passion when she's drawn into the tangled lives of her neighbors."

Burial Rites by Hannah Kent -- "Hannah Kent brings to life the saga of this young woman (Agnes Magnusdottir), the last to be publicly beheaded in Iceland, in the early twentieth century."  **Am leaning heavily towards this one, and it might even fit into my RIP reading, too, what do you think?

The Thicket by Joe R. Lansdale -- " . . . a rip-roaring adventure equal parts True Grit and Stand By Me -- the perfect introduction to an acclaimed writer whose work has been called 'as funny as anything that could have been dreamed up by the Brothers Grimm--or Mark Twain'. "  **But this one sounds pretty tempting, too.

The Edge of Normal by Carla Norton -- " . . . a novel that combines rare insight and unrelenting suspense.  With a fiercely original heroine and an ending that is a masterpiece of deception, Carla Norton's The Edge of Normal is a stunning debut thriller about a survivor who learns to fight back."

Murder in Thrall: An Acton and Doyle Scotland Yard Mystery by Anne Cleeland -- " . . . the first in a captivating new mystery series, following the perilous exploits of two Scotland Yard detectives as they track down London's most elusive killer . . . "  By the way Doyle is a first-year detective and Acton is a Chief Detective Inspector who also happens to be a Lord.

Songs of Willow Frost by Jamie Ford -- "Set against the backdrop of Depression-era Seattle, Songs of Willow Frost is a powerful tale of two souls--a boy with dreams for his future and a woman escaping her haunted past--both seeking love, hope, and forgiveness."

The Windsor Faction by D.J. Taylor -- "In London, crowds gather at the funeral of Wallis Simpson in an alternate history where Edward VIII sits on the throne . . . "

The Bones of Paris by Laurie King -- " . . . in this thrilling new book, King leads readers into the vibrant and sensual Paris of the Jazz Age--and reveals the darkest secrets of its denizens."  Sounds great, but I think I should probably read Touchstone first?

So, has anyone read any of these?  Any I should especially not miss?  Dilemmas, dilemmas.  How does one choose?

The Man in the Picture by Susan Hill

Susan Hill's The Man in the Picture: A Ghost Story is a story within a story within a story.  It's the sort of story I like best--rich in atmosphere and small detail, much like the Venetian painting at the heart of this novella.  It's a story that wends its way circuitously until a smashing ending.  And it's a story best enjoyed on a rainy afternoon curled up on a sofa with a cup of tea or hot chocolate in hand.  I have to give it to Susan Hill, she really 'does' ghost stories well.  Even if this one didn't shock in quite the same way as (one of my own favorites) The Woman in Black, this was quite a satisfying and chilling (if you give yourself over to it) recounting.

I've not read enough of Hill's work (her ghost stories in any case) in order to compare, though I have read The Woman in Black three times now, but I do see similarities in how she structures her stories.  I think, too, there is a strong nod of inspiration in the direction of ghost-story-teller extraordinaire M.R. James.  Hers are truly stories that are told to the reader (and the 'listener' in the book) often in front of a roaring fire, looking back on some dark and grisly occurrence--either something that happened to the storyteller himself or someone close to him.  They involve malevolent spirits who bear an awful grudge and demand some sort of recompense or revenge. 

In the case of The Man in the Painting, the story involves an academic setting.  It is told to the narrator, Oliver, by his old Cambridge tutor Theo Parmitter as they sit in his college rooms in front of a fire one "bitterly cold January night".  Theo is one of a dying breed who lives for his college and has devoted his life to it and his students. 

" . . . Theo was tremendous company, witty, acerbic, shrewd, a fund of stories which were not merely the rambling reminiscences of an old man.  He was a wonderful conversationalist--people, even the youngest Fellows, had always vied to sit next to him at dinner in hall."

One night after a good dinner and a bottle of claret the two sit in front of the fire with hail pelting down and the wind rattling the windows as it blows in off the Fens, and Theo offers to tell Oliver a "strange story" concerning a valuable eighteenth century painting that he had purchased in an auction many years ago.

"The picture was typical of those whose scenes are lit by flares and torches which throw an uncanny glow here and there, illuminating faces and patches of bright clothing and the silver ripples on the water, leaving other parts in deep shadow.  I thought it had an artificial air but it was certainly an accomplished work, at least to an inexpert eye."

This is not an ordinary painting, however.  It is one with an unusual history that seems to have a strange pull over any observer.  Theo has placed it in a dark section of the wall in his rooms where it sits in shadow until someone comes along and looks at it.  Then it is hard to ignore.  A lingering gaze reveals fresh depths to the picture, which is a city scene of Venice during Carnevale.  People mill about in the street, hanging over balconies, sitting in gondolas--all revelling in the decadence of the season.  Theo tells Oliver how the painting seemed to come alive after he had had it cleaned.

"But now, it was only one person, one figure which caught my eye and stood out from the rest, and although he was near the front of the picture, I did not think I had noticed the man before.  He was not looking at the lagoon or the boats, but rather away from them and the scene--he seemed in fact, to be looking at me, and into this room."

Although of the period the man is not dressed for the festivities and seems if anything quite plain and out of place.  Two of the revellers seem to have him gripped by the arms and are leading him away, pulling him further into the painting.  And on his face is a look of fear and astonishment.

Oliver tells us the story that his tutor recounts to him, and it is this secondary story within this framing device that is so chilling.  After Theo had owned the picture for many years, a photo of him sitting in front of it happened to appear in a magazine prompting a letter from a wealthy and elderly Countess who once owned the painting.  She implores Theo to sell it back to her.  She tells him to name his price, she will pay anything at all to get it back.  Strangely, though Theo had always thought it a dark and curious painting, one he never especially cared for, he all of a sudden cannot imagine letting it go.  Once again the painting seems to exude a strange pull towards whoever gazes upon it. 

The Countess once owned the painting and it is her story--how she came around to owning it--that explains the man in it and what he means and what he fears.  It's her story that really draws the reader in and elicits the chills and spine tingles.  A painting that Theo might normally have had few qualms of getting rid of won't allow him to turn away from it.  And there is always a price to pay with this painting.

Venice, as always, makes a wonderfully atmospheric backdrop.  Like a subject in a painting that seems to follow the 'viewer' with his eyes wherever he walks, this story too, has a mesmerizing quality to it.  It's not scary in a conventional way, but quite subtly has its share of chills and thrills.  I must look for more of Susan Hill's ghost stories (maybe one for Christmas?  For some strange reason ghost stories always seem to be appropriate at holidaytime).

That's my first RIP read down. I am reading Wilkie Collins's The Haunted Hotel and Other Stories a the moment and contemplating which book to pick up next.  If you enjoy a good ghost story, Susan Hill's The Man in the Picture is most definitely worth a read.

Teaser Tuesday: To the River

Oh, heck.  I hate it when I know I own a book but for the life of me cannot find it. It's not in any of the regular places I would expect it to be or in any of the places I don't expect it to be.  It drives me mad thinking about it and looking for it.  Inevitably I will find it when I am not looking for it of course.  And it will be in a place that I thought was going to be obvious when I put it there.

Case in point Roger Deakin's Wildwood.  Although Richard Mabey's Nature Cure didn't quite hit the spot for me, it still put me in the mood once again to pick up another nature book.  I thought I had settled on the Deakin until I couldn't find it.  Not wanting to waste time looking for a book that didn't seem to want to be found, I have instead picked up Olivia Laing's To the River.  The Deakin would have been about trees and forests (I love trees, as weird as that might sound?), but maybe rivers (or any large body of water really) will be just as good.

Now that I am happily ensconced near the river Ouse in Sussex, I have (of course) managed to find the Deakin.  Typical.  I think, however, things are as they are meant to be and as it turns out a couple of my books have crossed paths, which is always a good and fun thing.  I am reading (have gotten back to reading that is) Virginia Woolf's Flush.  If you know a little about Virginia Woolf she committed suicide in 1941 by drowning herself in the River Ouse. 

To the River combines a number of elements that are appealing to me--Laing walked the River Ouse from its source to the sea.  She writes about the river and its history and ecology as well as its literary and cultural significance.  It is also part memoir, too, and as an inveterate walker myself I find that aspect of what Laing set out to do quite interesting and inspiring.  And it is all presented in very beautiful prose and with a B&W photo opening each chapter, both of which is a bonus.

I'm not far in but I think the book has clicked with me, so it has turned out to be just the right choice after all.  Since I think Virginia Woolf is going to feature heavily in the book, I thought I would share a few passages of what I have read.  I know only a little about Woolf and am always curious to know more.  

"That spring I was reading Woolf obsessively, for she shared my preoccupation with water and its metaphors.  Over the years Virginia Woolf has gained a reputation as a doleful writer, a bloodless neurasthenic, or again as a spiteful, rarefied creature, the doyenne of airless Bloomsbury chat.  I suspect the people who hold this view of not having read her diaries, for they are filled with humour and an infectious love for the natural world."

**********

"There are sights too beautiful to swallow.  They stay on the rim of the eye; it cannot contain them.  I remembered something Virginia Woolf had written, about an evening 'too beautiful for one pair of eyes.  Instinctively I want someone to catch my overflow of pleasure.' 

**********

"So much goes by unseen.  'After an hour outside walking,' the naturalist Hannah Hinchman wrote, 'colours begin to appear much more brilliant, more saturated.  Oxygen to the brain?  Rods and cones sufficiently steeped?'  But no matter how long I stayed outdoors, there was a world that would remain invisible to me, just at the cusp of perception, glimpsable only in fragments, as when the delphinium at dusk breathes back its unearthly, ultraviolet blue'."

So many lovely passages.  I think I'm going to enjoy reading this very much indeed.  Already my pencil markings are evident.  And I have perused the lengthy bibliography in the back and see there will be much more to explore (one book always leads to another, don't you think).  I should be finishing Flush in a day or so and still plan on moving on to Leonard Woolf's The Wise Virgins.  So, a little by Woolf a little about Woolf and some more by her husband.  Lots of crossed paths.  And I still would love to read her diaries someday.  Doesn't this have 'Virginia Woolf Project' written all over it?  But for now I like the idea of a nature book that broadens out to the literary world.  And I can still read Roger Deakin next!

Where I Went This Summer (Reader's Ed)

It may be a whole week into September.  And only a few weeks until the official start of Fall.  I might be ready to wear long sleeves and maybe even a sweater in the evening, but when I step out onto my porch, the sun beats down, the air is stiflingly hot and Summer is still here with a vengeance.  The temperature today might just hit 100F (38C)!  We are finally having proper July/August weather in September.  I knew we would pay for those mild days a month or two back.  I am not ready for cold or snow, but I am ready for crisp days and crunching leaves.  So, since it is still Summer I guess it is not too late for this post, which I am shamefully lifting (contents and title, too) from Kathy at Catching Happiness.  A good idea should be shared (or in this case borrowed), right?

My summer was spent working and doing all the normal things I do all year, though I do still have a mini vacation coming up next month when I will be going to San Francisco (I've been so busy lately and it has been so far off in the future, that I've not had a chance to give it much thought, but I will soon be in vacation mode I suspect).  Thank goodness, then, for books which mean I can go anywhere in the world I would like and travel around in time.  This has always been a big reason why I love to read, the joy of pure escapism from the realities of day to day life.

So, where have I been this summer?  Here are a few highlights.

I spend lots and lots of time in England.  I was in Crompton Hodnet thanks to Barbara Pym at the beginning of the summer.  Crompton Hodnet is actually a fictional fictional town.  Unfortunately I didn't get around to writing about this book, though I loved the story (and Pym in general).  It's not the name of the town where the book is set (that would be the first fictional) but the made up name of a town that the vicar comes up with (that would be the second fictional).  Sorry, that's a bit confusing.  Maybe I'll try and revisit the novel before the year runs out and can write about it properly then.

I do love the seaside and would be up for travel to an island, so Agatha Christie's Evil Under the Sun presented a perfect destination even coupled with a murder. 

And then a quick trip across the channel and overland to Paris in Pierre Lemaitre's Alex provided a rather harrowing journey and this time ending in multiple murders and quite a lot of suspense.  I just noticed the book on sale this weekend at the supermarket (of all places!) as a matter of fact.

Oh dear, more murder, and this time in Canada with Louise Penny's Still Life.  I was on a binge not too long ago, wasn't I?  Well, there is crime all over the world, so I have gotten a taste how a number of cultures deal with murder mysteries.  This time the tranquility was shattered in the small, idyllic town of Three Pines outside of Montréal in Québec.

Jan Terlouw's Winter in Wartime meant a look at World War II and the Dutch Resistance in the Netherlands.  I think I'd like to return there under happier circumstances since I am sure it's beautiful (I get lots of postcards from the Netherlands . . . as an aside . . . via Postcrossing).  Will have to keep that in mind as I am choosing books for the rest of the year.

More wartime wanderings took me to a somewhat surreal Marseille in Anna Seghers's Transit.  And I just recently returned there in Jean-Claude Izzo's Total Chaos (will hopefully be telling you more about it this week).  It was a visit that once again proved violent and sad yet the beauty of the city and the love of it by the characters still shined through despite the situation.

In anticipation of my own upcoming trip I've spent some time in California.  Hollywood isn't really that much of a draw for me (I wouldn't mind seeing it once perhaps), but it makes for fascinating reading when it's about the life of a rising starlet in the Golden Age of Hollywood, Laura Lamont's Life in Pictures.  It's really San Francisco that I want to immerse myself in, and I did so through two more crime novels, Dashiell Hammett's Continental Op and Laurie King's Grave Talent.  Both brought back happy memories of the place even though the stories meant a look at the seedier underside of such a beautiful city.

Another jump over the Atlantic and back to France (I've spent more time there this year than I thought) with Philippe Claudel's Grey Souls.  Such a poignant and lovely story even with so much melancholy. 

Hmm.  I seem to be reading rather dark books, don't I?  My travels have not been very lighthearted or adventurous (in a non-threatening way that is) and not much in the way of happy relationships or even romance.  I think I will have to rectify that. 

At the moment I am spending lots of time hopping back and forth between Scotland with Rosamunde Pilcher's delightful (and most appropriate) September (with promises of happy endings and a love affair or two I think), Northern England in Jane Gardam's slightly quirky but wholly absorbing Crusoe's Daughter and over to Austria in Mary Stewart's most excellent and suspenseful (though not in a bloody or violent way), Airs Above the Ground.  These three are much closer to comfort reads for me so just the sort of escapism I love.  And for a dash of the exotic I spend my weekends in India with Vikram Seth's A Suitable Boy.

Quite a nice variety, I'd say!  What about you--where has your reading taken you this Summer?

Short Story Sunday: Two of the Uncanny

My RIP reading seems to be following a similar trajectory so far.  I've finished my first book, a novella by Susan Hill, which I will write about this week, and now two short stories of the uncanny.  They all have similar themes or are written in similar styles, but then maybe ghost stories by their very nature are similar in tone?  Nightmarish qualities, feelings of dread, strange coincidences.  Even if ghost stories are hard to pull off in terms of real scariness, the good ones still give a feeling of being cut off from reality, the feeling that the world is slightly off balance.

I'm hoping to read my way through The Haunted Mirror, which is a collection of stories by a variety of authors--favorites as chosen by Edward Gorey.  I'm not sure how they are ordered, perhaps randomly.  They are stories by nineteenth or early twentieth century writers (mostly male authors alas).  This week's story is by an author I've not had the chance to read until now, "August Heat" by W.F. Harvey (quite fitting for a hot September that's happening at the moment.

It's a hot August afternoon and the narrator of the story, James Clarence Withencroft is an artist, though not a very successful one.  Nearly melting from the heat, he has just made up his mind that the coolest and most comfortable place in the neighborhood is the deep end of the public swimming pool, which is where he is planning on going until sudden inspiration for a drawing comes upon him.  So he sets about making a sketch.  It's an unusual drawing--rather the subject is unusual.  He draws a man of some girth, "a mountain of flesh", who is sitting in a courtroom just after sentence has been pronounced.  His expression is one of horror and utter collapse.

Feeling pleased with his work James sets off with the intention of visiting a friend.  Instead he stumbles upon something which jars him.  He meets up with the man in his drawing.  A man he had never set eyes on before.  It's as if he has just stepped out of the drawing.  Uncanny.  Tempted as I am to share just one or two more details from the story, I am going to resist.  I will only say there are more coincidences.  This is a very short story that leaves things open ended for the reader's interpretation. 

Since the Harvey was such a fast read and not wanting to leave this shadow world quite yet, I picked up Nightshade: 20th Century Ghost Stories edited by Robert Phillips which I have out from the library.  It's another smorgasbord of stories by a variety of modern authors.  It's a nice mix of writers both female and male and both English language and stories in translation.  I decided to stick with someone fairly familiar, however, and read "The Bus" by Shirley Jackson.  Shirley Jackson is always good for a chill or thrill or at the very least a nice feeling of creepiness.

Old Miss Harper doesn't like traveling in any case, but even less so on the dirty bus that takes her home.  But it's a wet, nasty night and she is anxious to be out of it and in the comfort of her own house and there simply isn't any other way.  Miss Harper is on the curmudgeonly, cantankerous side and doesn't hesitate to complain to the ticket seller or the driver about the cleanliness of the bus.  She even jokingly thinks to herself that it would not be a surprise if the bus company sent a letter of complaint about her.

Resting her head against the seat she drifts off into an uncomfortable sleep.  She enters a sort of dreamlike state that is fitful and not at all restful.  All of a sudden, maybe an hour later she's jostled awake by the driver.  He shakes her until she opens her eyes and tells her she must get off the bus.  Her ticket is only good for a certain distance, but she believes she has arrived home so grabs her suitcase and eases herself down the stairs.  After the bus pulls away and she has a chance to look about her she realizes that the bus has only left her at an unknown crossroads.

It's a filthy night and she's quickly soaked to the bone.  When she sees approaching headlights she walks into the road and waves her hands in order to make them stop.  It's a truck with two young men who she asks for a ride.  As wet as she is they take a little convincing to let her ride along.  They drop her off at a house that's been turned into a roadside saloon frequented by young people.  The house, once a private family home, seems oddly familiar.  More of the uncanny.  Coincidence once again or something more sinister?  In true Shirley Jackson form there is a twist at the end.  Not quite the same caliber as "The Lottery" she still does a nice job of throwing the reader slightly for a loop.

Next week a story by Charles Dickens: "The Signal Man".

A Bounty of Good (Library) Books

I always seem to have a bounty of good books at hand, don't I?  And for that I consider myself very lucky indeed!  After my day-long reading extravaganza of a couple of days ago, I'm a little worn out (why do long weekends wear me out?), so something simple today is just what I need. 

I've not shared any recent library finds of late, and I am always finding good books at my library, so here's a sampling of the more tempting titles.

The Fate of Mercy Alban by Wendy Webb has a blurb on the back that makes me want to crack the book open and begin reading right now: "If Sarah Waters and Stephen King had a love child, it would be Wendy Webb!".  Now that intrigues me.  I adore Sarah Waters and Stephen King is one of the (maybe even the only) writers of horror that I would consider reading.  This is also written in the Gothic tradition of Rebecca.  It's a story with an old house, a packet of love letters, a lost manuscript and a decades-old mystery.  Another possible RIP read?

A new collection of novellas by Joyce Carol Oates called The Evil Eye most certainly falls into that category.  They are stories of "love gone wrong" (which has JCO's style written all over them!).  I think I need to try at least one of the novellas--they all seem pretty brief--between 50-60 pages. 

I came across Gita May's biography of Elisabeth Vigée Le Brun (subtitled The Odyssey of an Artist in an Age of Revolution) purely by accident.  I think I was looking for something else and this was in the result list.  It looked so good that I requested it instead.  She was an 18th century portrait painter and I will definitely be reading (at least am planning on reading) this one.

It's been years ago now, but I have read and enjoyed Andrea Barrett.  Her newest, Archangel is a collection of short stories that blend fiction with fact.  They (like her other books) explore the field of scientific exploration and discovery.  Most of the stories are set in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  Another one I really want to read.

Caroline at Beauty is a Sleeping Cat tempted me with Anne River Siddons's The House Next Door, another haunted house story (more RIP reading), but this one with a different spin as the house she writes about is newly constructed.

And a "just because it sounded good" older book by Jennifer Vanderbes called Easter Island, which is one of those books with parallel stories, both set on the enigmatic Easter Island but sixty years apart.  In this case during WWI and a more contemporary setting. 

So many good books to explore and as always the question is where to start.  I had wanted to do a little "dipping into" in these books during my mini-readathon, but I ran out of time.  Something to look forward to this weekend, right?

How It All Panned Out

So yesterday's mini readathon was definitely a fun and interesting experience.  I'm not sure you can tell that there is any noticeable difference between where my bookmarks started out yesterday and where they ended up by day's end.  In some cases there doesn't seem to be much of a difference at all, but these are the books I read from.  I'm trying to look at it as less of a 'what I didn't accomplish' sort of experiment than a 'look how much I got to read' experience!

I love having long uninterrupted chunks of time to read and thoroughly enjoyed picking up a variety of books.  As usual my eyes were bigger than my stomach.  Next time I do this I will have a better plan, I think.  Fewer books and maybe a smaller goal--to try and finish just one?  Something to look forward to and think about for later. 

I wasn't really online much yesterday, though I did check in and enjoyed reading comments--will reply to them tonight and hopefully do a little blog reading as well.  It was nice giving myself permission to just take a leisurely reading break for a day.  In any case--it was a nice way to end a long holiday weekend.

This is likely the pile of books I will be reading from for the rest of the week now, so I hope to be able to write about some/most of them very soon.

Oh, and I don't think I could pick a favorite of what I read.  I enjoyed them all and felt quite indulgent all day long!

Dipping Into (Lots of) Books

I'm having a little bit of a splurge this week.  My long three day holiday weekend is actually four days.  Two day weekends are never enough, are they?  Three day weekends are better but four day weekends really are the best.  If I plan well enough I can get all the necessary things that have to be done out of the way and the fourth day can be an indulgence. 

And that is exactly what it is going to be for me today.  Buried in Print and I have often toyed with the idea of doing our own mini-Read-a-thon, and we finally set a date and here it is.  I could never manage a full fledged twenty-four hour read-a-thon as appealing as such a long stretch of reading might be.  Aside from the fact that I don't think I could keep my eyes open for so many hours, I don't think I could focus on books for that long either.  Shocking as it sounds!  

So we are going to have an abbreviated all-day read session and chat about our progress over the course of the day.  The photo above (and it was a difficult choice which books to choose so out of control has my in progress reading stack become!) is my official dipping into stack.

We both decided to choose a "fresh" book to read today, though in my case and ever indecisive I could only narrow it down to a very few (will see which of these in the end I try to read in total today).  One will hopefully be the book I start and finish today, and then there is a longer book that I will just start today and hopefully finish reading in a timely (famous last words) manner.  

And this is the 'languishing' pile (much like the Richard Mabey book I finally got around to finishing yesterday).  I am not sure if I will get to either of these, but they are books I really do want to get back to and finish reading. 

So, I'll be back over the course of the day to drop in and let you know how my reading is progressing.  I do have one errand to take care of early on and then it will be all books all day!

What better way to spend an extra day off from work, don't you think? 

A.M. Update:  Since I had to do an early morning errand I thought I might as well stop for a cup of coffee and as I was a little early had time to sit and read a bit of Charles Palliser's The Quincunx.  While I was struggling with it before, I am actually starting to really get into the story.  Things are moving along now at a better clip, though every bad thing that can happen to the characters seems to be happening still!  I am officially just past the halfway mark.  Cause for celebration!  I'll likely revisit it later today.

I always walk for at least an hour every day and since I mostly walk on the treadmill have gotten quite adept at reading while walking.  I decided to start Susan Hill's The Man in the Picture, which is novella-length and I hope to be able to finish it over the course of the day as it is less than 150 pages.  It is very much in the vein of an M.R. James story--academic setting, ghost story told before a roaring fire.  I like it so far!

I've also been reading Mary Stewart's Airs Above Ground, which I think may well end up being my favorite of her books (but then I've liked everything by her I've read so far).  It helps that it has an Austrian setting.

And now I am reading from Jane Gardam's Crusoe's Daughter, which I had started recently but think I need to spend more time with to get fully into the story.  I have read her before and like her very much, and the seaside setting of this one is very inviting, too.

More later.

Afternoon Update:  Well, you can't really tell from this picture, but imagine a nice breeze blowing, wafting the curtains in and out.  Our beautiful weather is coming to and end today and will be once again the upper 90s(F) as the week progresses.  At least I have enjoyed a seasonably comfortable weekend.  Yesterday I was actually raking leaves!  At first I was a little surprised there were so many, but then Autumn is not far off (officially that is).

My reading continues apace.  It has been completely leisurely.  I have lots of books to choose from as you can see and will likely only be dipping into perhaps half of them.  Lunch was accompanied by Clare Chambers In a Good Light, which is a third reread for me.  I love her work. 

I continued on with Angela Thirkell's Wild Strawberries (thanks Liz for the great suggestion), which is just the book that fills that desire I was having.  Thanks, too, for all the other suggestions, as they have been duly noted for later!

Now I am beginning Rosamund Pilcher's September, which is another perfect, (also very seasonable), comfort read.  It is set in Scotland and the story opens in May with the idea of a dance, a big one with tents on the lawn and live music an no doubt an extensive menu.  It is to be for a young woman just turning twenty-one and given by her parents.  The story is going to be one of the lavish, full cast stories with lots of plotlines.  So far I have been introduced to three characters as well as a few secondary village characters.  I think it is going to put me even more in the mood for cool weather.

I will read a little more of The Quincunx and then will have to decide whether to spend the res of my reading time trying to finish the Susan Hill novella or continue dipping into other books.   

Depending on where my reading takes me there might be one more update, otherwise I'll be back tomorrow to let you know how my reading day went!  I hope you've had lots of good reading time over the long holiday weekend (and into the work week) as well.