Over the weekend my latest shipment of books arrived. How exciting. I love books. They are my weakness, my passion. Books have that incredible ability to stimulate, to relax and empower you all at once, much like a good drug. (I presume!) I never, or rarely, buy brand new books. eBay and Amazon all the way. I save money AND recycle. How… green.
I have this habit of starting a mini library where ever I am. I start off with zero books and then eBay away till my shelves are stocked. And then am faced with the task of packing them up when I move. The newest additions to my library are White Oleander, which came highly recommended, A Time to Kill by John Grisham, and These Happy Golden Years- the final book to complete my Little House on the Prairie series.
I am a Laura Ingalls fan. There, I said it. Now laugh all you want; my roommates sure did. “I would never have imagined it of you” said O, like I had told her I molest little boys or wear the same underwear three days in a row. The truth is, I kind of got hooked on it from the House book. It was interesting, the stories about the settlers, how they built their houses, hunted, survived on the prairies. And so this final book was missing from my collection, the climax, where Almanzo begins to court Laura and inevitably marries her (that sounds so strange, to say courts, instead of hooked up or ‘did’), and I just finished it. Aaah closure.
I have a thing for series. When an author catches my eye, I hunt down his/her books with a vengeance. I did it with the Nora Roberts collection and now I’ve read every trilogy she ever wrote; I did it, obviously, with the Harry Potter series; I did it with John Grisham, who writes quite possibly the most fascinating law fiction ever. Which is why I had to buy A Time to Kill. I borrowed it from someone, cried like a baby while reading it, and fell in love with it instantly. So I had to have it in my collection.
My other all time favorite series is the Anne series. My aunt sent me the collection of 8 when I was like 10, and I’ve read and reread them a million times because the writing of L.M. Montgomery is so beautiful, it still catches me off guard. Sometimes I have to pause and reread a sentence a couple times because the wording is so stunning, the descriptions she gives are so breathtaking, that they deserve time for absorption. Apart from the writing, the story itself is fascinating. My only problem with it is, the man’s name is Gilbert. I mean Gilbert! Yes, I know a rose by any other name and all that, but Gilbert?! Sigh.
Anyway, I’m currently reading White Oleander. I’m liking it so far. The prose is beautiful, the writing is simple and the story has my attention. Read on.