When I am good, I am very, very good... but I have been bad. I have neglected my blog for no good reason other than a number of suddenly and inexplicably intense interests that are unrelated to books. I became short term obsessed with winter clothing, stick insects and German cheese (in that order). I have neglected my writing about my reading to these (some might say odd) ends. Thanks to my near-namesake Book Girl I owe the internet a specific blog post, and this is yet to materialise. So I feel extra behind.
Furthermore on the subject of being naughty, I have been reading a book that I really can't claim as work related. It was joyous! I discovered an Edith Wharton I hadn't read: her final (incomplete) novel The Buccaneers. It was - predictably yet satisfyingly - sad and beautiful. I absolutely relished every bit of it, and loved the gentle twist at the end even though (guess what?) it made me sad. It was on the less grim end of the Wharton Scale of Misery, but nevertheless it ended, as always, with a woman doomed to dissatisfaction and misery. I could go on and on and on about the wonders of Wharton but since she is dead there is no chance that she will google herself and stumble upon my blog so I might just leave it here. My next blog post will be all about guilty pleasure.