Tag Archive: 100 greatest novels

I have nothing in common with that carrot, take it away.

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I have just finished ‘In The Shadow Of Young Girls In Bloom’ by Proust, and of course, it’s full of deeply insightful nuggets about human behaviour, especially the utter insanity of being in… Continue reading

The Things We Do For Love

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I’m 46 years old and should know better than to be growing out a mid-70’s homage to Bowie haircut. I may be a million miles away from looking like the thin white duke… Continue reading

Mmmm…I love the smell of chemicals in the morning.

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New books, in two senses of the word. When undertaking to read the 100 Greatest novels (according to the Guardian newspaper and some other literary bods) I knew I’d have to part with… Continue reading

It’s over! I have finished Moby Dick!

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I’m aware there was a time in my life when I wasn’t reading ‘Moby Dick’, but it seems so long ago I barely remember it. I think my hair was shorter, and it… Continue reading

A never-ending book and the pen of divorce

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I am on page 1000! With normal books, written by non-crazy people who weren’t Samuel Richardson, this might signal getting somewhere, but nope, I’m only two-thirds of the way through. Basically, to summarise… Continue reading

We aren’t allowed to die here

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Scanning down the Guardian’s list of 100 greatest novels there aren’t many whose author or title are completely unfamiliar to me. Of those, ‘Mrs Palfrey at The Claremont’ stands out because the author, Elizabeth… Continue reading

Welcome to the Bates Motel for Meekness & Mindfulness

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I read Jane Austen’s ‘Emma’ in 1985, and at the time, I’d have happily swapped it for a quarter of cola cubes, or even just one. I blame my teacher Mrs Powell, who,… Continue reading

Le Carré serves up British Intelligence in the buff (envelope)

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By happy coincidence, ‘Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy‘ turned up on one of my foraging expeditions to a secondhand bookshop in the same week that Lucy and I embarked upon our trek through the 100… Continue reading

Dammit, Lovelace. You’ve ruined the whole book.

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Ruined it. Trashed it. If I met you I’d punch you in the face. With a brick. A brick tied to an anvil. *spoiler alert* If you are not yet up to the… Continue reading

I’ll tell you why, Ishmael. Because men are liars, that’s why.

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I’m about halfway through ‘Moby Dick’, and Ishmael is wondering why whales are so poorly depicted anatomically in early paintings and sculptures. Party, because people’s memories are awful and no two descriptions are… Continue reading