Day of Reaping; ‘The Hunger Games’ by Suzanne Collins

As I almost got run over walking work today, I realised, holding up an apologetic hand to the driver I had definitely angered, that I seem to occupy more time in my head than I do in the world around me. Nearly getting run over was my own fault; risking lives is not an activity I partake of often, I appear to be a slave to my imagination. Daydreaming is incredibly enjoyable, if not for ………

Lest We Forget; ‘The Notebook’ by Nicolas Sparks

Cynical and me go way back. There is a certain happiness in misery that I find hard to separate from; it is a both a friend and an enemy. My attempts to be more positive, mainly for the people on which I inflict my despair, are menial at best; there are just some things in this world which leave my glass half empty and Romance is one of them. I do not understand the ‘magic’ ………

Pochemuchka; ‘The Vanishing of Katharina Linden’ by Helen Grant

There is something about an easily read book that annoys me. I am not entirely sure why, but if something can be read with ease in a small amount of time without too much thought I questions its value as a piece of brilliant literature. I am being unfair I know as an easily read book has its perks. Introducing the unenthusiastic to the passion that is literature with Dickens is not going to cut ………

A Movable Feast; ‘The Paris Wife’ by Paula McLain

I was 18 when I visited Paris, Montmartre to be specific. It was magnificent, culturally different to anything I was used to and even though I was not on top form (suffering from insomnia; how my friends put up with me, I don’t know!) it far from failed at being beautifully inspiring. Paris has an intellectual and cultural allure; it is beautifully grimy, secretively open and destructively generous. In the 1920s the Russian artist Marc ………