So, despite a groaning piles of Books I Should Be Reading Because I'm Paid to Do So, I went into the singularly unfriendly Camden Waterstone's to remind myself why indies are best and to buy Colm Toibin's Mothers and Sons. *will master accents and italics shortly, joy* Have a look at the master's own website, a bit cutesy but impressive nonetheless.
It's just breathtaking. The book that is, not his website. The short story is, as they say, your only man.
Much to my immense annoyance, I missed the William Trevor reading at the short story festival this weekend through a truly lame combination of fatigue, lack of funds and the lure of the Brick Lane Beigel Shop. That, and fear of meeting work folk I don't know well enough yet, but should.
So on a completely unrelated note, I'm compiling a Christmas list, one which includes precious few books (see above) but rather a list of passwords to the likes of the LRB, the New Yorker and a few other tools of the trade I would really rather like but, unsurprisingly, find that I cannot afford. I should probably do something bright like do alternate weeks of different mags with a £5 budget. That's a thought.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment