The ginger cat believes you can never own too many books
I’ve decided to regularly feature books on here, as a proper thing, with a title in the drop-down menu and all that that implies in terms of emphasis. Until now, I’ve featured books in passing, when they are relevant to the bit of beauty or fashion that I’m chattering on about. But, given that this cry often rings around the houses when I am assessing beauty products: “What? £xx.xx for that? I could buy a BOOK for that money!” it seems remiss to not accord books the status they deserve as objects of beauty, and things that bring joy to the world.
Don’t expect any Literary Criticism on these pages – I can’t bear it when people go into raptures about technical aspects of writing. If I’ve chosen to feature a book here, it’s because it is one of my favourites. And if a book is one of my favourites it’s almost always because I think the characters are wonderful, and worth returning to many times.
I’m not so fussed about plot. I trained myself at a young age to actively forget the plots, in order to maximise the joy of re-reading.
Cover art is as important to me as packaging is … I love the so-called superficial. And I intend to focus on books that are as gorgeous to look at as they are pleasurable to lose oneself in.
I like Carrie Fisher’s Dinah Kaufman character more than I like some of my friends
The books I choose to write about won’t always be in print, either, never mind hot off the press. I’m none too keen on people shouting “A classic!” until they’ve had at least some time and space to cool off on a book and assess if they’re really going to take that particular tome back down from the shelf when they could instead read Treasure Island one more time.
I have been working part-time as a Librarian (mainly with primary-school children) for the past few years. The best part of that job is introducing children to books and authors new to them, and it’s equally satisfying when the children alert me to fantastic stuff I hadn’t known about. I think it’s a shame that people think it’s natural to ‘grow out’ of children’s literature and I am as willing to curl up on the sofa with Maurice Sendak as I am with Samuel Beckett.
And finally, I don’t like it when people are snobbish about books any more than when they are snobbish about beauty products, so, although I’ve name-dropped Samuel Beckett back there, I am happy to admit to understanding very little that he writes. No-one is better than me at appreciating the author photos on his dust-jackets though.