Geoff and I have spent the last few days in Bendigo, staying at the lovely Langley Hall. After and between exploring where Geoff spent a good bit of his primary years and early teens, we had some space for catching up on the the volume of reading to be done for the next while.
I bought with me two books, Irresistable Revolution – Shane Claiborne and The Independence of Miss Mary Bennet – Colleen McCullough. So one non-fiction, one fiction.
They have turned out be horrendous mistakes.
Irresistible Revolution kept me awake for a few good hours on the first night while I tried to reconcile my life with some ideas and practicalities, I eventually gave up because I couldn’t get it to work and slept instead. Pure brilliance. If I could wish something disturbing on everyone I know, it would be that book and the guts to actually come through with something. I shall meanwhile continue to attempt to assess my own situation in regards to some fair truths that will persist in being shoved at me gently while I finish the text. The safest way of living here, methinks is to never finish it at all so it might be forefront in my mind.
The supposedly lighter Pride and Prejudice follow on – which I have never actually read (or rather finished) because the BBC so closely follows the story and I can’t be bothered wading through more of Mrs. Benet who is so freaking annoying, made it’s way merrily along and then started destroying some of the beautiful things about Elizabeth and Darcy – which I could manage with – with some pain mind you, but it birthed out Mary nicely to compensate. THEN at about half way, it went spaco-weird as Mary gets abducted (via two other abductions) into this weird sect and I suddenly remembered that for all McCullough’s charms and graces in seemingly following in the grain of something light, she doesn’t actually write strictly happy chick lit and although not exactly terrifying -I wasn’t in the mood for it to the last thing I read before heading off to sleep. I continued to read and when it flicked back to mauling Darcy and Lizzie I left it kindly there. I am enjoying the book rather a lot. Despite McCullough’s marvelous attempts at making new of Chick-lit, the topic itself and the appalling lilac (cringe even at the word) of the book cover will ensure it’s place forever in the genre, but I do LOVE the nasty shock she pulls out just as you’re getting comfortable.
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