I have been banging on about the importance of reading for the last two weeks, and thought it might be useful to list the books that I have been reading myself, over the last month or so. I try to read as much as possible, but sometimes life gets in the way.
Still, here’s what’s been keeping me busy:
Much-loved travel writer Bill Bryson revisits Great Britain, going to a variety of villages and cities as he reflects on how the nation has changed since he wrote Notes from a Small Island. He is funny as always, but older and crabbier. And some of the things he has to say about Britain made me feel a little sad.
Where did I lay my hands on it? My mother had it on six-week loan from her local library and loaned it to me because it was a Bryson that had somehow escaped my notice till now.
Set in 19th century Canada, this is essentially a murder mystery in which various groups of people go trekking across frozen wastes in search of the killer, or their relatives, or escape from their own circumstances. It’s gripping and worth reading, despite some holes in the plot and characters whose stories could to with more fleshing out.
Where did I lay my hands on it? My mother works in a charity bookshop and bought it from there, and loaned it to me to read.
This is set in Long Street in Cape Town and is indisputably local. It’s a fantasy/horror tale, following the recovery of one Erin Dearlove, a teenager who has survived a dreadful crime. I read it to the end because I wanted to know what happened, but horror is not my first love. It’s quite a lot more disturbing than the blurb on the back of the books makes it sound – but the local flavour and references make it accessible.
Where did I lay my hands on it? My local library
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