No review today, for no other reason than my reading speed has become snail paced. I finished The Little Friend by Donna Tartt last night, it’s an amazing book. It didn’t make my head explode with ideas as The Secret History or The Goldfinch did, but it was beautifully written and very enthralling.
In the absence of a review, enjoy some spoken work poetry by Sarah Kay and Phil Kay (no relation).
This time last year I was unoccupied and reading all the books I could get my hands on. This August hasn’t been nearly as productive reading wise, I feel as if I’ve barely picked up a book.
I’ve decided to post this prior to the end of August as frankly I cannot foresee anything literary occurring to me between now and then.
Park Notes by Sarah Pickstone (and more)
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens (perhaps I’ll get to the other 50% another time)
- History of the Rain by Niall Williams
- Unthink by Chris Paley
- We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler
- Mãn by Kim Thúy
- The Year of Reading Dangerously: How Fifty Great Books (and Two Not-So-Great Ones) Saved My Life by Andy Miller
- The Little Friend by Donna Tartt
Bereft by Robert Frost
As I Grew Older by Langston Hughes
Puck, A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Shakespeare
Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen
In other news:
It’s the Hampstead & Highgate Literary Festival from 14th – 16th September; Soho Theatre Literary Festival from 24th – 28th September; Blenheim Palace Literary Festival from 25th – 28th September; The Henley Literary Festival from 29th September – 5th October; and The London Literature Festival from 30th September – 13th October. Phew, that’s a lot of literature in a short space of time.
How was your August?
Where had I heard this wind before
Change like this to a deeper roar?
What would it take my standing there for,
Holding open a restive door,
Looking down hill to a frothy shore?
Summer was past and the day was past.
Sombre clouds in the west were massed.
Out on the porch’s sagging floor,
Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,
Blindly struck at my knee and missed.
Something sinister in the tone
Told me my secret must be known:
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow must have gotten abroad,
Word I was in my life alone,
Word I had no one left but God.