What I'm Reading Wednesday (now at least bi-annual)
(I'm still not doing anything for 
fandom_stocking. Luckily it should open soon and then I can relax and do something else! I forget, of course, that 'better' when you've been bad is a relative term.
Also I seem to have given the impression to everyone that Manhunt is rubbish and it really isn't; it was just a bit up and down and sexist to begin with & I get very little out of protracted 'action' sequences. It's now reached an impressively consistent high standard. Vincent, Nina, and Jimmy, though, remain the most rubbish. Strangely, everyone was a lot more interested in watching it despite this, much more so than anybody is when I tell them old TV is good. Reverse psychology??)
Anyway, look at me, this makes it twice in a year (not calendar year) at least this time. I probably won't read enough to make it every Wednesday, but hopefully more often. I am optimistic!
What I've Just Finished Reading
And So To Murder by Carter Dickson, which I finished up quite quickly after I posted the other day. It was good fun and I enjoyed it. I still don't know whether to praise the BBC for giving me lovely mental casting (the three characters who were the most fun were played by Suzanne Neve, William Russell, and Stephanie Bidmead) or curse them for burninating it, but it did add to the book, so I suppose I'd better at least be a tiny bit grateful.
As I said, Monica Stanton (aka Suzanne Neve) is a vicar's daughter who writes a steamy Romance novel in 1939; her aunt, distressed, wonders why she couldn't write a nice detective novel, like those by Bill Cartwright (Wm Russell):
Now Monica Stanton, to begin with, had no real grievance against that inoffensive form of entertainment known as the detective-story. She neither liked nor disliked it. She had read a few, which struck her as being rather far-fetched and slightly silly, although doubtless tolerable enough if you liked that sort of thing. But, by the time her aunt had finished, Monica was in such a state that she had come to curse the day Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born. It was a wordless, mindless passion of hatred. As for Mr William Cartwright... Monica felt that she would like to poison Mr Cartwright with curare, and dance on his grave.
And so of course, Monica gets a job at a film studio only to find that she has to write the screenplay for William Cartwright's detective novel while he has to write the screenplay for her distressingly sexy romance. (He thinks it's lousy.) Cue much arguing, an almost instant murder attempt based on one of Bill's books, and, of course, the big question - will Monica persuade Bill Cartwright to shave off his horrible beard?
Which is all good fun. I'm not sure about Sir Henry Merriville, who is theoretically the detective. He even manages to beat Alleyn for lack of time spent on the page, but, unlike Alleyn, I can't help feeling he'd be very annoying if he was around for much longer. (Although, talking of Alleyn, given that Sir HM is head of British Intelligence in WWII, and Alleyn did Intelligence work in WWII, he presumably had to work for him. He probably returned from New Zealand with a carefully filled out file of detailed intel and Henry Merriville just stuffed it untidily in a drawer and told him he knew what was going on from the first radio message anyway. Poor Alleyn.)
I might see if the library has any more by the author under either pseudonym (Carter Dickson or John Dickson Carr), but I suspect this one was just a fun idea, really. The back cover announces, engagingly, that it can't have a photo and autobiographical note about Carter Dickson because he "prefers to conceal his identity behind the mystery of not only one but two pseudonyms; and it is therefore not possible to satisfy the reader's curiosity about a person who to all intents and purpose does not exist." Sadly for Mr Dickson, the internet is a great spoilsport if you want to maintain a secret identity beyond the grave.
Before Christmas, I can now say that I was for obvious reasons, re-reading a lot of Miss Marple as well as reading Dracula for the first time (my reactions are in my Yuletide reveals post).
I also finished Venetia by Georgette Heyer, a re-read, although it was one of the books I rashly gave away a while ago, so it had been a long time. Very enjoyable, of course, and I am very happy to have a copy again. It is very sad that after a year of reading Regency Romances, I still haven't found anyone even a tiny bit like Georgette Heyer. I wish there would be, somewhere, in some period or other.
What I'm Reading Now
I'm a bit between things, but I continue with the very excellent The Victorian City by Judith Flanders in NF. (I am even taking notes for family history, which is a very exciting development as of the last few weeks and months. It's taken a bit of patient building up, but I'm able to do it a little again.)
What I'm Reading Next
That is the question. I was looking at my TBR (when spoons) pile and seeing whether any of them clicked easily, but I haven't decided which one to try next or whether just to re-read something to build up a little more stress-free stamina first before I risk reading a new-to-me book that might get killed by CFS. (I'd rather wait and be fair in my first reading). We shall see!
Crossposted from Dreamwidth -- Comments there:
fandom_stocking. Luckily it should open soon and then I can relax and do something else! I forget, of course, that 'better' when you've been bad is a relative term.
Also I seem to have given the impression to everyone that Manhunt is rubbish and it really isn't; it was just a bit up and down and sexist to begin with & I get very little out of protracted 'action' sequences. It's now reached an impressively consistent high standard. Vincent, Nina, and Jimmy, though, remain the most rubbish. Strangely, everyone was a lot more interested in watching it despite this, much more so than anybody is when I tell them old TV is good. Reverse psychology??)
Anyway, look at me, this makes it twice in a year (not calendar year) at least this time. I probably won't read enough to make it every Wednesday, but hopefully more often. I am optimistic!
What I've Just Finished Reading
And So To Murder by Carter Dickson, which I finished up quite quickly after I posted the other day. It was good fun and I enjoyed it. I still don't know whether to praise the BBC for giving me lovely mental casting (the three characters who were the most fun were played by Suzanne Neve, William Russell, and Stephanie Bidmead) or curse them for burninating it, but it did add to the book, so I suppose I'd better at least be a tiny bit grateful.
As I said, Monica Stanton (aka Suzanne Neve) is a vicar's daughter who writes a steamy Romance novel in 1939; her aunt, distressed, wonders why she couldn't write a nice detective novel, like those by Bill Cartwright (Wm Russell):
Now Monica Stanton, to begin with, had no real grievance against that inoffensive form of entertainment known as the detective-story. She neither liked nor disliked it. She had read a few, which struck her as being rather far-fetched and slightly silly, although doubtless tolerable enough if you liked that sort of thing. But, by the time her aunt had finished, Monica was in such a state that she had come to curse the day Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born. It was a wordless, mindless passion of hatred. As for Mr William Cartwright... Monica felt that she would like to poison Mr Cartwright with curare, and dance on his grave.
And so of course, Monica gets a job at a film studio only to find that she has to write the screenplay for William Cartwright's detective novel while he has to write the screenplay for her distressingly sexy romance. (He thinks it's lousy.) Cue much arguing, an almost instant murder attempt based on one of Bill's books, and, of course, the big question - will Monica persuade Bill Cartwright to shave off his horrible beard?
Which is all good fun. I'm not sure about Sir Henry Merriville, who is theoretically the detective. He even manages to beat Alleyn for lack of time spent on the page, but, unlike Alleyn, I can't help feeling he'd be very annoying if he was around for much longer. (Although, talking of Alleyn, given that Sir HM is head of British Intelligence in WWII, and Alleyn did Intelligence work in WWII, he presumably had to work for him. He probably returned from New Zealand with a carefully filled out file of detailed intel and Henry Merriville just stuffed it untidily in a drawer and told him he knew what was going on from the first radio message anyway. Poor Alleyn.)
I might see if the library has any more by the author under either pseudonym (Carter Dickson or John Dickson Carr), but I suspect this one was just a fun idea, really. The back cover announces, engagingly, that it can't have a photo and autobiographical note about Carter Dickson because he "prefers to conceal his identity behind the mystery of not only one but two pseudonyms; and it is therefore not possible to satisfy the reader's curiosity about a person who to all intents and purpose does not exist." Sadly for Mr Dickson, the internet is a great spoilsport if you want to maintain a secret identity beyond the grave.
Before Christmas, I can now say that I was for obvious reasons, re-reading a lot of Miss Marple as well as reading Dracula for the first time (my reactions are in my Yuletide reveals post).
I also finished Venetia by Georgette Heyer, a re-read, although it was one of the books I rashly gave away a while ago, so it had been a long time. Very enjoyable, of course, and I am very happy to have a copy again. It is very sad that after a year of reading Regency Romances, I still haven't found anyone even a tiny bit like Georgette Heyer. I wish there would be, somewhere, in some period or other.
What I'm Reading Now
I'm a bit between things, but I continue with the very excellent The Victorian City by Judith Flanders in NF. (I am even taking notes for family history, which is a very exciting development as of the last few weeks and months. It's taken a bit of patient building up, but I'm able to do it a little again.)
What I'm Reading Next
That is the question. I was looking at my TBR (when spoons) pile and seeing whether any of them clicked easily, but I haven't decided which one to try next or whether just to re-read something to build up a little more stress-free stamina first before I risk reading a new-to-me book that might get killed by CFS. (I'd rather wait and be fair in my first reading). We shall see!
Crossposted from Dreamwidth -- Comments there: