Later, and partially refreshed
Thursday, October 27th, 2005 12:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
caddymanThe Lea mood is much improved; lulled to an impromtu kip, slumped on the bed to the sounds of Lennon on the hi-fi has restored my customary good nature. That and kicking the servants.
I have just watched the latest offering of Lost on E4, which is precisely 1 week ahead of Channel 4, so I shan't say anything specific to ruin it for those of you without digital telly (and anyone on t'other side of The Pond who is interested will have seen it months ago anyway), but it is getting rather odd even by its own standards. Tonight we got Michael and Walt's back story. Passing strange in places, and Walt's comic book seems to have been more important than we previously realised.
On to other matters: I have picked up a copy of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Suzanna Clarke. Wandering around Books Etc this evening before coming back to the Athenaeum Club, I noticed that it has been released in a three-volume edition in a slip case. Very handsome, and priced at £12.99. Even better, however, was the same story in a single volume (a mere 1,006 pages)with a cover price of £7.99. Better still, the latter was being sold at half price. Hmm... £3.98 or £12.99? That took less time to decide than it did to type.
I really don't know that much about the background to the story, other than the adverts that appeared around various Tube stations over the summer, but it is some months - or in fact some years now, since I read a fantasy meisterwerk, so I am looking forward to it. The prose of the first 20 or so pages apes a pleasantly Victorian ornate style, but without the stodgy blandness of so many of the so-called "greats".
I have probably mentioned before that there are very few of the 19th century classics I actually like; they are literature to build an Empire to, which is precisely what happened. No telly, no radio, few organised sports, little entertainment for the common bloke, beyond addling his brains on beer and gin. No wonder we ended up ruling a third of the planet. There was bugger all else to do for entertainment.
And yet it wasn't always that way: read Walter Scott, or even Richardson's Pamela, epics literature from the 18th century and it proves that it wasn't always the way with classic English Literature that it could only be enjoyed by people with broom handles up their arse, and collars starched up to their ears. The 19th century has much to answer for.
Anyway, as I type it is nearly half past the Pumpkin hour, so I shall love you and leave you, one and all. I'm off for a shower and then some proper kip (provided the early evening nap didn't ruin it for me, on which occurrence I shall probably be back here whinging about something inconsequential.
It's a hobby.
I have just watched the latest offering of Lost on E4, which is precisely 1 week ahead of Channel 4, so I shan't say anything specific to ruin it for those of you without digital telly (and anyone on t'other side of The Pond who is interested will have seen it months ago anyway), but it is getting rather odd even by its own standards. Tonight we got Michael and Walt's back story. Passing strange in places, and Walt's comic book seems to have been more important than we previously realised.
On to other matters: I have picked up a copy of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Suzanna Clarke. Wandering around Books Etc this evening before coming back to the Athenaeum Club, I noticed that it has been released in a three-volume edition in a slip case. Very handsome, and priced at £12.99. Even better, however, was the same story in a single volume (a mere 1,006 pages)with a cover price of £7.99. Better still, the latter was being sold at half price. Hmm... £3.98 or £12.99? That took less time to decide than it did to type.
I really don't know that much about the background to the story, other than the adverts that appeared around various Tube stations over the summer, but it is some months - or in fact some years now, since I read a fantasy meisterwerk, so I am looking forward to it. The prose of the first 20 or so pages apes a pleasantly Victorian ornate style, but without the stodgy blandness of so many of the so-called "greats".
I have probably mentioned before that there are very few of the 19th century classics I actually like; they are literature to build an Empire to, which is precisely what happened. No telly, no radio, few organised sports, little entertainment for the common bloke, beyond addling his brains on beer and gin. No wonder we ended up ruling a third of the planet. There was bugger all else to do for entertainment.
And yet it wasn't always that way: read Walter Scott, or even Richardson's Pamela, epics literature from the 18th century and it proves that it wasn't always the way with classic English Literature that it could only be enjoyed by people with broom handles up their arse, and collars starched up to their ears. The 19th century has much to answer for.
Anyway, as I type it is nearly half past the Pumpkin hour, so I shall love you and leave you, one and all. I'm off for a shower and then some proper kip (provided the early evening nap didn't ruin it for me, on which occurrence I shall probably be back here whinging about something inconsequential.
It's a hobby.