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lunababymoonchild

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Everything posted by lunababymoonchild

  1. This is a very weird book. It's also very short. Listed as having 96 pages, nothing said anything about 36 of them being blank pages and a few more with illustrations - and not great art at that, imho. It was easy to read this in one sitting. Although that's not what I did. It is a mixture of prose and poem mostly about the land and sea coming alive. Not that interesting I have to say and I only finished it because it was short. That said I am glad I read it. I'd rather come across the odd dud than miss out on anything especially if it's experimental. Not recommended 😞
  2. Ness, Robert Macfarlane and Stanley Donwood.
  3. This book was written thirty years ago (you can tell, central locking in cars seems to have been a novelty and as for mobile phones, non-existent) and it went out of print. The only Rankin to do so. Legend has it that a fan persuaded Ian Rankin to give it another read and he realised that it wasn't as bad as he originally thought it was and had it re-released, this year. So, it's about a facility that uses satellites to monitor goings on. Something bad happens and one of the scientists ends up trying to battle secret service agents to find out the truth. A little far fetched but interesting none the less and an entertaining read. Recommended.
  4. No, I haven't and not seen the TV series either.
  5. From Amazon because they can put it better than me : 'Only connect.' is the idea at the heart of this book, a heart-breaking and provocative tale of three families at the beginning of the twentieth century: the rich Wilcoxes, the gentle, idealistic Schlegels and the lower-middle class Basts. As the Schlegel sisters try desperately to help the Basts and educate the close-minded Wilcoxes, the families are drawn together in love, lies and death. Frequently cited as E. M. Forster's finest work, Howards End brilliantly explores class warfare, conflict and the English character. It took me a while to get into this book but once in it was fascinating. The class struggle, the close-minded Wilcoxes and the poor Basts. There are a few twists in the plot to keep the reader's interest and it is clear that 'Only Connect' is at the heart of this book. Good prose, superb plotting and great characters, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Recommended
  6. The Gospel of Luke as recommended by Cherrypie, a previous member of BGO. King James Version e-book, my choice. Westwind, Ian Rankin.
  7. "...with melting wax and loosened strings Sunk hapless Icarus on unfaithful wings; Headlong he rushed through the affrighted air, With limbs distorted and dishevelled hair; His scattered plumage danced upon the wave, And sorrowing Nereids decked his watery grave; O'er his pale corse their pearly sea-flowers shed, And strewed with crimson moss his marble bed; Struck in their coral towers the passing bell, And wide in ocean tolled his echoing knell." The Death of Icarus, Erasmus Darwin
  8. I read this as part of a group read run by a previous member here, Lizzy Siddal. It was part of German Lit Month. From Amazon (because they can do it better) : Franz Biberkopf is back on the streets of Berlin. Determined to go straight after a stint in prison, he finds himself thwarted by an unpredictable external agency that looks an awful lot like fate. Cheated, humiliated, thrown from a moving car; embroiled in an underworld of pimps, thugs, drunks and prostitutes, Franz picks himself up over and over again - until one day he is struck a monstrous blow which might just prove his final downfall. A dazzling collage of newspaper reports, Biblical stories, drinking songs and urban slang, Berlin Alexanderplatz is the great novel of Berlin life: inventing, styling and recreating the city as reality and dream; mimicking its movements and rhythms; immortalizing its pubs, abattoirs, apartments and chaotic streets. From the gutter to the stars, this is the whole picture of the city. It took me a long time to get into this book but once there it was amazing. It was, of course, difficult but I don't mind struggling with my fiction from time to time and this was definitely worth it. It's very difficult to describe the book, as it is - as above - a collage of different things, which takes a lot of getting used to. Lizzy had it read very quickly but I took my time and spent the whole month reading it. The other participants dropped out. Women are not at all treated well in this book (but then we are dealing with prostitutes) and it concentrates on the criminals and underworld of the city so there is not a character that the reader can identify with let alone like. I'd recommend this because it's so superbly well written but it is tremendously difficult to read in the collage style and the characters are all unpleasant. A triumph, imho
  9. Ha, ha, thanks Tag. It's good to see you.
  10. Absurdly young. Not so young, possibly the last of the polymaths, at 85, Jonathan Miller
  11. "Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grass Of the forest's ferny floor; And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller's head: And he smote upon the door again a second time; "Is there anybody there?" he said. But no one descended to the Traveller; No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller's call. And he felt in his heart their strangeness, Their stillness answering his cry, While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf, 'Neath the starred and leafy sky; For he suddenly smote on the door, even Louder, and lifted his head:-- "Tell them I came, and no one answered, That I kept my word," he said. Never the least stir made the listeners, Though every word he spake Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house From the one man left awake: Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup, And the sound of iron on stone, And how the silence surged softly backward, When the plunging hoofs were gone. The Listeners, Walter De La Mare
  12. I just picked up a bookcrossing book from the supermarket library scheme that we have and journaled that I had it. It's The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham and is so old that it doesn't have an ISBN number. I intend to read I - eventually - and give it back from whence it came.
  13. Meg, I will tell her. I'm sorry to hear about you and Mr. Meg. Momac, the book we are group reading is Berlin Alexanderplatz. Not the easiest book to read but you know that I enjoy struggling with my literature from time to time. As for health problems, we have had our share but fortunately no ambulances - I well remember what that's like - or hospital stays so we are fine.
  14. Hello Momac, good to see you. We have been having hard frost and bright sunshiny days. My favourite weather in addition to the rain. Tomorrow we'll be having rain. Getting the house into some sort of order - succeeded in cleaning out the soap tray in the washing machine which isn't as easy as it sounds. Just need to figure out how to clean the rubber ring around the front . Steam cleaned the handrail and bannister last week, they were so dirty it was shocking. I'm in a group read with an ex-member of BGO Lizzy Siddal for German lit month, it's very interesting.
  15. I am a feather on the bright sky I am the blue horse that runs in the plain I am the fish that rolls, shining, in the water I am the shadow that follows a child I am the evening light, the lustre of meadows I am an eagle playing with the wind I am a cluster of bright beads I am the farthest star I am the cold of dawn I am the roaring of the rain I am the glitter on the crust of the snow I am the long track of the moon in a lake I am a flame of four colors I am a deer standing away in the dusk I am a field of sumac and the pomme blanche I am an angle of geese in the winter sky I am the hunger of a young wolf I am the whole dream of these things You see, I am alive, I am alive I stand in good relation to the earth I stand in good relation to the gods I stand in good relation to all that is beautiful I stand in good relation to the daughter of Tsen-tainte You see, I am alive, I am alive The Delight Song of Tsoai-talee BY N. SCOTT MOMADAY
  16. When the corn’s all cut and the bright stalks shine Like the burnished spears of a field of gold; When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine, And the frost comes white and the wind blows cold; Then its heigho fellows and hi-diddle-diddle, For the time is ripe for the corn-stalk fiddle. And you take a stalk that is straight and long, With an expert eye to its worthy points, And you think of the bubbling strains of song That are bound between its pithy joints— Then you cut out strings, with a bridge in the middle, With a corn-stalk bow for a corn-stalk fiddle. Then the strains that grow as you draw the bow O’er the yielding strings with a practiced hand! And the music’s flow never loud but low Is the concert note of a fairy band. Oh, your dainty songs are a misty riddle To the simple sweets of the corn-stalk fiddle. When the eve comes on and our work is done And the sun drops down with a tender glance, With their hearts all prime for the harmless fun, Come the neighbor girls for the evening’s dance, And they wait for the well-known twist and twiddle, More time than tune—from the corn-stalk fiddle. Then brother Jabez takes the bow, While Ned stands off with Susan Bland, Then Henry stops by Milly Snow And John takes Nellie Jones’s hand, While I pair off with Mandy Biddle, And scrape, scrape, scrape goes the corn-stalk fiddle. “Salute your partners,” comes the call, “All join hands and circle round,” “Grand train back,” and “Balance all,” Footsteps lightly spurn the ground, “Take your lady and balance down the middle” To the merry strains of the corn-stalk fiddle. So the night goes on and the dance is o’er, And the merry girls are homeward gone, But I see it all in my sleep once more, And I dream till the very break of dawn Of an impish dance on a red-hot griddle To the screech and scrape of a corn-stalk fiddle. The Corn-Stalk Fiddle BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
  17. If we were in infinity, we would be everywhere, even inside ourselves, as taste resides in the walnut, and the walnut resides in the shell. Then we would thrive inside the subjunctive, where nothing happens but dreams of being, as paradise dreams of its inferno, the inferno of cotton candy. If only the world had ripened, like a pear, it might have melted the mirror in me, delivering its softness to the hard road of the mind, sixty miles from town. And if our grammar were even to our heat, comma, conditional phrase, comma, we’d be addicted to the sentence, sentenced to an exile that sees, hears, and thinks, and is often mistaken for love. Trees are chronologies; every leaf shines, and in turning over it winks an eye: if, if, and then. The world is possible meaning; the world is possible, meaning: I might have been an elf, had I been elfin. But I am not an elf. I am a giant with tiny hands: would, could, and should. Had I been winged, I might have flown from industrial field to pastoral alley on great woollen wings, with the blue face of a bee. Then it would have been said, “He is repairing to his persona,” or “He is retiring to his future.” I’ll copy this by way of the stars, reflective. Get back to me by facsimile or dream of climbing a night ladder to the place of ideal size, near a town of simple affection. If we had been born, lived our lives, and died, we might have existed. On the side of darkness, infinity; on the other, a sixty watt bulb. Darkness of the Subjunctive By Paul Hoover
  18. I have not seen the Jeff Bridges version and I'm sure it's good. I think I'll read the book too
  19. I did not know that True Grit (cowboy film starring John Wayne) is a book
  20. Alfred Döblin, Berlin Alexanderplatz
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