Friday, February 25, 2011

The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield

       The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield is the best books I have read in years.

     Margaret Lea, who has already written one biography but who's life is mainly books and her fathers book store, is asked to write the life storey of Veda Winter, a famous writer. Veda does not always tell the truth and the story is not what Margaret had expected.  And why was the book titled The Thirteen Tales on  the first edition when there are only twelve in future publications?

    But it is not the mystery uncovered at the old house where Veda lives that makes this book wonderful. It is Setterfield's writing. Her use of words and mood kept me on the edge of my seat and glued to the pages long after I should have been in bed on a work night. The story within a story was incredibly well done. 
     Before I gave the book to my daughter to read, I placed a sticky note on the page containing the following paragraph, asking her to call me so we could talk about it when she finished reading that page.

"I have always been a reader; I have read at every stage of my life, and there has never been a time when reading was not my greatest joy. And yet I cannot pretend that the reading I have done in my adult years matches in its impact on my soul the reading I did as a child. I still believe in stories. I still forget myself when I am in the middle of a good book. Yet it is not the same. Books are, for me, it must be said, the most important thing; what I cannot forget is that there was a time when they were at once more banal and more essential than that. When I was a child, books were everything. And so there is in me, always, a nostalgic yearning for the lost pleasure of books. It is not a yearning that one ever expects to be fulfilled."

     She was also moved by the words. This so completely described our own experiences with reading we were amazed.  I read the paragraph several times on discovery and find myself, years later, still picking up this book, just to reread this and other parts I have marked throughout.

"There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic."

     Sigh! Diane Setterfield, you have expert hands.  I impatiently await your next book.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

My Own Blog

     I read so many Book Blogs I decided today was the day I would begin my own.  I am a simple person, so this will be a simple blog with short reviews. I once wanted to be a writer, but I am, as my blog title indicates, a reader.  Perhaps not just 'a reader', but a book person with . . . well, a possible problem.
     I sit at my desk in my study and behind me are four book cases crammed with books.  There are history books, biographies, commentary, health and fitness, bible study, childrens books, popular modern fiction, classic fiction and the worn, but dearly loved, Holt, Stewart, Whitney and other gothic romance books of my youth.
     On the floor beside my reading chair are stacks of books aquired from freinds.  These books are in limbo.  Are they good enough reads to stay? Should I rearrange them again, placing the new mystery from Patterson on top for a quick read? Do I even want to read the two picked up at work from the book exchange?
     Beside this chair is a small table that once belonged to my maternal grandparents. In memories my grandfather keeps his paper and crossword books on it.  At my house it holds the books I am now reading and my Kindle.
     Sometimes I come to this room, sit in my chair and just look at my books.