Last year I read 175 Romance novels.
None of the above will appear in the below.
Instead, this all feels rather hallowed. Hands in laps, please, unless to click the buying link.
These aren’t in order of belovedness, because who am I to order that? Not with hypothetical children, not with books.
Nightwood by Djuna Barnes:
I felt I had been born to read this book.
Hawthorn and Child by Keith Ridgeway:
Persisted long after I finished it, the melancholic, mysteriousness of being alive. Sums up how I feel about London, and the interplays of meaning are some of this finest I’ve seen.
Food in England by Dorothy Hartley:
I don’t read non-fiction, I find, unless it is about food. And what food! Expect posset in the year to come, and perhaps sweetbreads.
The Complete Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle
Emotional crutch, total escape, thrilling traipse through a study of devotion.
Good Morning Midnight by Jean Rhys
A finer novel about being tremendously sad in Paris you could not wish to find. Nor would you. This book nearly killed me.
Very excited to read things in 2013. All of them.