I seem to have an awful lot of reading going on at the moment; some of these books have been sitting on my table for months (if not longer) and I will at some point have to decide whether I am going to persevere or give up, but not just yet, I think:

  • The Mitford Girls by Mary S Lovell – “‘I am normal, my wife is normal, but my daughters are each more foolish than the other‘ bewailed Lord Redesdale, father of the Mitford girls. Part of my Mitford obsession as mentioned briefly here.
  • The Sicilian Vespers by Steven Runciman – “On 30 March 1282, as the bells of Palermo were ringing for Vespers, the Sicilian townsfolk, crying ‘Death to the French’, slaughtered the garrison and administration of their Angevin King.”
  • Bone Song by John Meaney – “Tristopolis. Death’s City. Countless dead lie in the miles of catacombs beneath its streets.” Zombies and stuff in noir crime story.
  • The Women of Muriel Spark and Muriel Spark – reading these as background to the great abandoned but about to be resurrected Reading Muriel Project
  • Growing by Leonard Woolf – an autobiography of the years 1904 to 1911, set aside for some reason I can’t quite fathom
  • The Nightmare Factory by Thomas Ligotti – to be dipped into, prose is very, very lush.
  • Jigs and Reels by Joanne Harris – forgot all about this one, must finish it as I’ve enjoyed the stories I’ve read so far
  • Small Avalanches by Joyce Carol Oates – another dipper
  • O, Beloved Kids by Rudyard Kipling – Kipling’s letters to his children, which was intended to kick-start a Kipling fest after I visited his house in the summer; still something I want to do…..

And sad to say I’m still reading some of the books on this list, namely:

I have always had a mild obsession with the Mitfords; I’m not exactly sure when it started, but it has been kicking around for a long time. My first exposure to them was probably picking up David Pryce-Jones’s biography of Unity Mitford at a point when I was interested in what made an upper-class young woman fall in withe the Nazis. This led me not so much to Diana Mitford but to Nancy, and I read a couple of her novels and her book about Madame de Pompadour, and thus was I hooked.

I have piles of books by and about the Mitfords all over the house and at some point I will pull together a post about the ones I’ve read and the ones I’m going to read, and probably astonish myself with how many there actually are.

But for now it’s all about Letters Between Six Sisters, edited by Charlotte Mosley; and what a task that must have been, deciding what to include and what to leave out from a mountain of correspondence over not quite eighty years (the first letter is from 1925, the last from 2003). I’ve had this for a while but decided to pick it up after seeing the Duchess of Devonshire at 90 exhibition when I visited Chatsworth last month. And I have romped through what is understandably a pretty chunky book, over 800 pages including the index, but I just couldn’t put it down. The complex relationships between six women with strong personalities and equally strong views is totally absorbing, the feuds and alliances and misunderstandings and misrememberings all entirely fascinating, often funny but moving and sad as well. One of the things I loved most was the sisters’ use of nicknames, which seemed so specific to their world until I looked at some of my e-mails to friends and realised that I do exactly the same thing.

If like me you are drawn to reading letters and diaries then you will find this really enjoyable, even if you don’t know much about the family itself. Loved it and am heading off to find the joint Mitford biography which is skulking on a shelf somewhere…..

Well, I have always had rather a soft spot for good old Alice, and having watched and enjoyed the re-imagining that was Tim Burton’s movie earlier this year, I was really up for having a punt at Frank Beddor’s The Looking Glass Wars.

So Alyss is being trained to become Queen of Wonderland after a period of horrendous civil war which saw her parents defeat her wicked Aunt Redd. Things go totally pear-shaped on her birthday and she is forced to flee to our world in order to save herself. There she becomes Alice and tells her story to Charles Dodgson who uses it as the basis for the books we know and love.

But can Alice really find happiness in the arms of Prince Leopold or will her destiny reclaim her?

Well, we all know what’s going to happen here.

I thought I would probably like this but wasn’t prepared for how much I would love it and how quickly I would read it. I loved playing spot the character: some of them pretty straightforward correlations to our Alice (Hatter M being the most wonderful to my mind) but others a little more difficult to fathom.

I liked the conceit of Alice being a foundling brought into the Liddell’s home and how no-one believes her fantastic tales, so much so that she begins to doubt them herself as she grows older. I loved the idea of her becoming Queen Victoria’s daughter-in-law. I loved how she got here and how she gets back. And I adored the monstrous figure that is Redd and the havoc that she unleashes.

And then, of course, there is the violence…..

I enjoyed it so much that I now have the two sequels and the first of the Hatter M graphic novels, and will indulge myself at a suitable point.

Really very clever indeed.

So while on holiday I finally got around to reading Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger.

Now, this was always going to be a bit of a big deal because I had so enjoyed The Time Traveler’s Wife, which I read before starting this blog and have never reviewed here – suffice to say (as I’m sure I already have) that I became heavily emotionally involved with that novel to the point of almost disgracing myself by crying on public transport over the ending.

And I suspect that’s why I waited until this came out in paperback and even after I bought it didn’t leap into reading it immediately, concerned as I was that I might hate it. But thankfully I didn’t (though  I get the impression that some other readers were disappointed in it.)

In terms of plot, this is really a story about two sets of twins, Edie and Elspeth, and Edie’s daughters Valentina and Julia. Elspeth dies at the beginning of the novel, never having reconciled with her sister after an estrangement lasting 20 years, and leaves her flat overlooking Highgate Cemetery to her American nieces, with the proviso that Edie never goes there and that her papers are removed by her neighbour and lover Robert. The only fly in the ointment is that Elspeth comes back as a ghost.

Will her presence become known to the other inhabitants? Will the big secret she has been hiding come out? Will there be unintended consequences?

Well, yes, of course there will.

I took absolutely ages to read this, not because I wasn’t enjoying it or didn’t want to know what was going to happen, but possibly just because it was not sufficiently light for a holiday read. I was determined not to set is aside, though, as whenever I did pick it up I enjoyed reading it. It’s fair to say that I didn’t connect with it the way I did with TTTW but I enjoyed the story, though I found Valentina and Julia really annoying at times and was in many ways more interested in Robert, Martin (another neighbour, one with OCD who compiles crosswords), the setting and the practical problems around corporeality in ghosts. I’m ashamed to say that I have lived in London for over 20 years and never once been to any of the great cemeteries, though the pull of both Highgate and Kensal Green is now very strong.

The big secret didn’t really come as a huge revelation; I had already wondered if it was going to be along the lines that it eventually turned out to be (grammatically awful way of expressing it, but I’m sure you know what I mean), although I didn’t get the details exactly right. I also found the ending a little abrupt.

But I have to say that I enjoyed it, and may even pick it up again in the future as, now that I know the story, I’m sure there are nuances that I missed on the first read.

If I had been participating in Carl’s RIP V challenge I would certainly have tried to claim this as my second read.

So, today was the last proper day of our holiday and we decided to visit a place we have been to several times before, but which is one of our absolute favourites.

Dryburgh Abbey is the prettiest of the four border abbeys (the others being Kelso, Melrose and Jedburgh); it’s an incredibly peaceful setting and if you have to be stuck in the ground somewhere I can’t think of anywhere more beautiful.

Sir Walter Scott certainly thought so as this is where his tomb is, and I paid him a visit as I always do when we are here.

Tomorrow we start our tw0-stage drive home and I probably won’t have internet access so no posts until I’m back in London. By then I may even have finished reading the book I’ve slowly been working my way through all the time we have been in Scotland…..

So today was our first real day of what could loosely be called bad weather, in that it rained a bit (not bad for Scotland where it can tend to rain a lot – and I mean a lot).

But that didn’t stop us from tanking up the coast to revisit Tantallon Castle, an imposing and remarkable structure with a long and fascinating history only finally put to an end by Oliver Cromwell.

I glared at the Book God as a representative of the English, though of course my lot were often no better.

It was bracing so we didn’t stay long, and after a pleasant drive back to where we are staying and a few restorative cups of Earl Grey we were ready for anything. Anything, in this case, was me catching up with blogs and e-mails and the Book God having his afternoon nap.

It’s tough, but someone has to do it……

So today was a bit of a respite from the touristy stuff; having spent a chunk of yesterday in the car heading from South Ayrshire to Peebles, it was good to do something different, and a shopping spree was in order.

No pictures of me actually doing any shopping – not pretty at the best of times – but nice things purchased, including shoes (of course), shirts for the Book God, a few small things for home, some foody things we can’t get in London (well not without great planning and major expeditions) and a lime green merino wool scarf  (of which I am already inordinately fond).

But the fun part was visiting The Main Street Trading Company in St Boswells, a really fabulous bookshop featured in Cornflower Books a while ago. Really lovely shop and excellent cafe (especially loved the cupcakes). So if you are in the area you really must visit.

Now relaxing after the rigours of the day.

Wonder what’s for dinner……..

On Sunday we had a lovely drive through (once again) glorious autumnal sunshine, which involved driving up and down the Electric Brae in Ayrshire which is an optical illusion which makes you think you are going uphill when in fact you are going downhill. Despite my childhood memories, and understanding of how it’s all supposed to work and a willing driver in the shape of the Book God, we failed miserably in trying to achieve the correct effect. Pathetic really.

Then on Monday, again in wonderful weather, we drove to Wigtown (which I visited last year) and then on to Whithorn, where we visited the Priory and learned all about St Ninian and the oldest Christian settlement in Scotland.

And today, we tootled up the coast in the fog and mist to the part of Ayrshire where my ancestors came from, and visited Dundonald Castle, which is imposing and impressive.

And this evening it’s packing before we drive over to the Tweed Valley tomorrow for the last part of our holiday….

So, this time last year I was at the Mull of Galloway trying and failing to make my way to the lighthouse through rain and howling winds.

Today, in glorious autumn sunshine, not only did we make it but we climbed all 115 steps to the very top. I managed to go into the lantern part but decided against walking out onto the balcony (which I’m sure has a proper name that makes it sound more like a working bit of the lighthouse but am too lazy to look it up). Bottled it in true afraid-of-heights fashion. It was very windy again, I might have been blown all the way to Northern Ireland. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

But I don’t care because I made it to the top without succumbing to a heart attack and have a certificate to prove it!

So on our last few days in Derbyshire we decided to do that which had to be done; visiting Chatsworth (seen here from the side)

It’s a fabulous building in a wonderful setting, awash with great art and full of stuff of great interest, whether it’s a throwback to the Great Bess of Hardwick (who has featured here a lot over the past few days) or Mitford-related stuff (another area of great interest to me and a reminder of another pile of books yet to be read waiting for me at home)

I probably now deserve an award for the most use of the word “great” in a paragraph but I’m too tired and lazy to think of alternatives; it takes a lot out of an old girl to walk around a stately pile like this one.

Another lovely sunny day to wander around the grounds. Resisted the temptation to pop over to the last day of the Attic Sale; a set of Victorian pokers and fire tongs would have looked lovely chez Bride, but alas, almost certainly out of my price range…..

Bride of the Book God

Follow brideofthebook on Twitter

Scottish, in my fifties, love books but not always able to find the time to read them as much as I would like. I’m based in London and happily married to the Book God.

I also blog at Bride of the Screen God (all about movies and TV) and The Dowager Bride, if you are interested in ramblings about stuff of little consequence

If you would like to get in touch you can contact me at brideofthebookgod (at) btinternet (dot) com.

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