Yuletide reading - a very English set of comments
Is it just me, or do these stories get better every year?
Also ... this year, I found myself recognising, ack, about half of the people involved. In a sort of vaguish fandom way, I knew two of the three people for whom I wrote. Should I feel fandom middle age approaching? (This is not helped by my mother's insistence, this Christmas, on referring to me as middle-aged. Often. Cheers, Mum.)
Anyway, things I really loved this year -
The Long Knight on the Hill (Elizabeth Goudge - The Little White Horse)
Which I found utterly absorbing. I should add, I have only a fleeting acquaintance with the book, although I know well and have always loved Elizabeth Goudge's adult fiction. It doesn't matter. This is half fairy tale, half ghost story, and has the sympathetic magic of the original. Oh, and spiritual redemption too.
Predictably, I also loved The Conscience of the Queen, (Dorothy Sayers) which is about chess, and has an utterly English plot with frustrated spinsters and anonymous letters, and has also Miss Murgatroyd and Miss Climpson and is from Harriet's point of view. Also quotes Dunnett!
Georgette Heyer, of course, and another Avon/Hugh fiction - Adeste Fidelis, Satanas. In which there is George Selwyn, and bell-ringing, and Walker before ever he became the imperturbable maitre d' of These Old Shades. It felt so like Oxford to me, this fiction. The notes at the end are fascinating. (I am unconvinced of Avon's instant friendship, but then, that's such a minor quibble. The whole is lovely.)
Guilty pleasure? Ten Things About the Kennedys You Never Learned in A.P. US History. RPF. And, crumbs, reads so sly and arrogant and true.
And finally, I also very much liked Without Waking, which is Robin of Sherwood (BBC). Written in episodic, snatched, uneasy moments, fragments of memory and poverty and obligations and promises and magic.
In other news ... I have three free days now, thank goodness, and three bits of writing to finish. I'm out on Saturday night, and probably up on George Street too: I haven't yet decided if I'll be in the Barony on Sunday, - and I will most definitely be in front of my own fire in my own house for the bells - but may drop by early evening.
Also, I had the most annoying customers ever today. Braying men with sons studying Law at Oxford. (Should I bow? Phfft.) Arrogant men - really? Better men than you have tried and failed to crack this icy calm. People trying it on with refunds and lost book tokens - oh, sweetheart, welcome to the joys of the EPOS system. Now just exactly when and at what till did you purchase this item?
On the other hand. Three free days. Yay!
Also ... this year, I found myself recognising, ack, about half of the people involved. In a sort of vaguish fandom way, I knew two of the three people for whom I wrote. Should I feel fandom middle age approaching? (This is not helped by my mother's insistence, this Christmas, on referring to me as middle-aged. Often. Cheers, Mum.)
Anyway, things I really loved this year -
The Long Knight on the Hill (Elizabeth Goudge - The Little White Horse)
Which I found utterly absorbing. I should add, I have only a fleeting acquaintance with the book, although I know well and have always loved Elizabeth Goudge's adult fiction. It doesn't matter. This is half fairy tale, half ghost story, and has the sympathetic magic of the original. Oh, and spiritual redemption too.
Predictably, I also loved The Conscience of the Queen, (Dorothy Sayers) which is about chess, and has an utterly English plot with frustrated spinsters and anonymous letters, and has also Miss Murgatroyd and Miss Climpson and is from Harriet's point of view. Also quotes Dunnett!
Georgette Heyer, of course, and another Avon/Hugh fiction - Adeste Fidelis, Satanas. In which there is George Selwyn, and bell-ringing, and Walker before ever he became the imperturbable maitre d' of These Old Shades. It felt so like Oxford to me, this fiction. The notes at the end are fascinating. (I am unconvinced of Avon's instant friendship, but then, that's such a minor quibble. The whole is lovely.)
Guilty pleasure? Ten Things About the Kennedys You Never Learned in A.P. US History. RPF. And, crumbs, reads so sly and arrogant and true.
And finally, I also very much liked Without Waking, which is Robin of Sherwood (BBC). Written in episodic, snatched, uneasy moments, fragments of memory and poverty and obligations and promises and magic.
In other news ... I have three free days now, thank goodness, and three bits of writing to finish. I'm out on Saturday night, and probably up on George Street too: I haven't yet decided if I'll be in the Barony on Sunday, - and I will most definitely be in front of my own fire in my own house for the bells - but may drop by early evening.
Also, I had the most annoying customers ever today. Braying men with sons studying Law at Oxford. (Should I bow? Phfft.) Arrogant men - really? Better men than you have tried and failed to crack this icy calm. People trying it on with refunds and lost book tokens - oh, sweetheart, welcome to the joys of the EPOS system. Now just exactly when and at what till did you purchase this item?
On the other hand. Three free days. Yay!