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World Book Night

A book meme, from loneraven.

The book I am reading: The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas, John Boyne. I started it on the train yesterday morning and then fell asleep on the train home, so I am not very far into it yet.

The book I am writing: I am not writing a book. I wrote, once, when I was in primary school, a school story. I was a child who grew up on a steady diet of Enid Blyton and Elinor M. Brent-Dyer and wanted desperately to go to boarding school and play lacrosse and have midnight feasts, and when I was about ten I wrote what amounted to my own Malory Towers book. But it was probably the length of your average Nanowrimo and I had original characters, which is more than you can say for anything that I write these days.

The book I love most: The story I love most is Birdsong. This was the source of much lively debate between myself and my pastoral tutor at Durham, who preferred Charlotte Gray. The book I love most is the copy of The Bone Collector that I bought for my grandad and signed for him by Jeffrey Deaver.

The last book I received as a gift: My sister bought me David Starkey's biography of Henry VIII.

The last book I gave as a gift: I bought my mum a copy of the new Patricia Cornwell, which is not my thing -- the bad writing, rather than anything against the genre -- but is what she asked for for Christmas.

The nearest book on my desk: The Oxford Handbook of Clinical Medicine. Also Davison's Principles and Practice of Medicine and a copy of the British National Formulary. It is a working Saturday.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
(Deleted comment)
sefkhet
Mar. 5th, 2011 08:32 pm (UTC)
Oooh. I do not and I would, that would be lovely if you were able to.

Yes, books are awesome.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against,
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up, something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.

But happiness floats.
It doesn't need you to hold it down.
It doesn't need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing, and disappears when it wants to.
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house and now live over a quarry of noise and dust cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own.,
it too could wake up filled with possibilities of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
and love even the floor which needs to be swept,
the soiled linens and scratched records.

Since there is no place large enough to contain so much happiness,
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you into everything you touch. You are not responsible.

You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it, and in that way, be known.

- Naomi Shihab Nye

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