Well nowhere, which is part of the problem. I've been home, doing the various restricted-by-virus home things that I do, not finishing much and finding little of note to say. However I suppose that having little to say is a feature of the times we live in and should be recorded as much as anything else.
I finished a couple of puzzles. One I knew before I did it was destined for the library/charity shop pile. It's fun to do - but only the first time really.
Having finished that I have now pulled out a much older one that was designated 'do once more and give away' and I hope to start that later today.
On the knitting front I've done lots of knitting without finishing much apart from this scarf, which is for a friend's Christmas present. It's in Rowan Kidsilk Haze which is beautifully light and soft and warm, which makes it wonderful for scarves, but it is also an absolute trial to knit with.
I also finished the Saturday Slaughters book club book, which alert readers will remember was The Memory Wood, last mentioned when I was part way through. I struggled to the end but took the decision not to attend the discussion last Saturday, as the subject matter became more and more unbearable for me. Decades ago I was at school with a girl called Lucy Partington, who disappeared without trace from the town where I lived during her final year at University, only to turn up a very long time later buried in the cellar of Fred and Rosemary West. In those circumstances books about the kidnap and torture of teenage girls and young women do nothing but distress me and I honestly could not have discussed this book as though it were an entertaining read. When the summary of the discussion came through I marvelled at the opening line which said that the group had fallen into two distinct camps. Surely, I thought, no-one had liked the book? Turns out the two camps were those who, like me, had fought their way from cover to cover, and those who hadn't been able to face that and so had skim read it to catch the salient points of the plot. I honestly cannot imagine why anyone would find this a worthwhile or fulfilling or enjoyable read, but presumably the publisher thought there was a market for it.
Today, I have decided, is officially the start of the Countdown to Christmas, which basically means I'm going to do one thing every day to get me towards getting everything needful done by 24th. I sort of started this yesterday by buying the OH a chocolate Advent Calendar, although I feel this doesn't really count as it entailed no effort on my part bar asking the shopkeeper to pass me one, and then getting out my wallet to pay for it. Today however I am going to wrap my nephew's Christmas presents, which will stretch me slightly more and therefore feel more like a meaningful task completed once it's done.
Not that I ever had that book on my wish list, but if I had, it would now be deleted. Whose bright idea was it??
ReplyDeleteWhy on earth did anyone think it was worth discussing? I can understand, say, the modern Scottish gothic thing I had to do even though the books made my regular nightmares ten times worse for several weeks, but this book you mention seems to lack any merit of a literary nature to justify its discussion by non-students.
ReplyDeleteI suppose the sad thing is that there is a market out there for such things - people who enjoy reading about young girls being kidnapped and tortured. It had a clever twist which seems to be all that's required in a thriller these days, the only literary merit it had was that the author is very good at describing woods. But then if descriptions of woods is what you're after you might just as well read a nature book!
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