In My Mailbox is a weekly bookish meme hosted @ The Story Siren
A Rogue By Any Other Name - Sarah MacLean (already read, and wow!)
Oh, I almost forgot: Free for Kindle!
What did you get this week?
In the latest Novel of the Elder Races, a Queen on the brink of sanity has no one to rely on except the Wyr warrior whose conviction is every bit as strong as his passion.In order to save his friend's life, Wyr sentinel Rune Ainissesthai made a bargain with Vampyre Queen Carling—without knowing what she would ask from him in return. But when Rune attempts to make good on his debt, he finds a woman on the edge.Recently, Carling's Power has become erratic, forcing her followers to flee in fear. Despite the danger, Rune is drawn to the ailing Queen and decides to help her find a cure for the serpen's kiss—the vampyric disease that's killing her.With their desire for each other escalating just as quickly as Carling's instability spirals out of control, the sentinel and the Queen will have to rely on each other if they have any hope of surviving the serpent's kiss.
1.) The link - comes via my housemate Debs' friend Jo. It's a response in the Guardian to that list of beautiful bookshops which did the rounds a while ago (did I post them here? I can't remember - there were some stunning places.) Basically it's about the most unattractive and haphazard bookshops containing the best 'finds' - and does raise the question: why are so many secondhand bookshop owners grumpy and unpleasant? Is it just me who has found this? Is it because I buy cheap books, and they're hoping I've got my eyes on £500 first editions? (There are notable exceptions, of course - the staff in Slightly Foxed bookshop, for instance, are always lovely.) Enough waffle from me - the article is here.Charley sees dead people. That’s right, she sees dead people. And it’s her job to convince them to “go into the light.” But when these very dead people have died under less than ideal circumstances (i.e. murder), sometimes they want Charley to bring the bad guys to justice. Complicating matters are the intensely hot dreams she’s been having about an Entity who has been following her all her life…and it turns out he might not be dead after all. In fact, he might be something else entirely.
It's time! Do you plan to fiesta with us the weekend of March 30, 31 and April 1? Do you have things you'd like to do on your blog that you haven't managed to get to in forever? Do you want to do those things with lots of other bloggers from all over? Talk things over with them? Bounce ideas off them? Learn from them? Teach them too?If so, you will not want to miss the latest installment of Bloggiesta! A blogathon created nearly three years ago by Natasha of Maw Books so we could do those very things listed above!
Birds and animals have many habits which indicate the coming weather to a wise watcher. If the partridges are still flying in coveys on February 1st, it foretells a late spring; if they pair as early as the last week of January, the season will be an early one. Pheasants crow in the night to warn of the approach of bad weather, but lately they have decided that German bombs are as bad as tornadoes. They are extremely sensitive to the sound of a coming raid, and can hear, or feel, the fall of a high-explosive bomb quite twenty miles away. Then at once they lift up their voices in shrill chorus.But it is not just the flora and fauna in which Olivier is interested. She turns her attention to the human inhabitants of Wiltshire, including many photographs. Those of scenery are a little underwhelming (being in black and white, they offer rather less than modern day equivalents) but the many and various photographers (including Cecil Beaton) have captured some astonishingly natural shots of labourers and villagers. These were the most interesting to me. Indeed, through Olivier's country moods, it was human behaviour which most appealed to me. Those of us who are familiar with E.M. Delafield's Provincial Lady will identify with this excerpt - which, by the by, is one of the elements of Olivier's countryside which certainly hasn't changed:
In spite of the country genius for making festivals out of buying and selling, nothing can prevent a Sale of Work from being a terribly dreary affair; yet every village must have at least one every summer. For weeks beforehand the whole parish is busy with preparations. A garden is lent; the morning arrives; the stalls are prettily arranged; and then, a few hours before the time fixed for the opening ceremony, the goods have to be hurriedly scrambled into the schoolroom to escape a deluge of rain. Everyone agrees to make the best of it. A leading lady of the neighbourhood declares the sale open. The clergyman makes a tactful speech. The members of the audience look feverishly round. There is nothing at all to buy, and nobody to buy it.One of my problems with Olivier's writing elsewhere is that her writing is rarely witty - all a little too earnest. So I was grateful to find the above section, with its Delafieldian tones. Although Country Moods and Tenses does lean towards the solemn for the most-part, these little flavours of humour help elevate the book. And Olivier finds humour in her observations about the countryside she so dearly loves, in both present and past.
In the Middle Ages, the traveller in Europe (or even in England if he went beyond his own county) had to be an adventurous fellow indeed. Morrison, who published one of the earliest road-books, tells his readers that they should certainly make their wills before leaving home; and one of his first bits of practical advice is an instruction on the different technique of duelling in each European country. He tells the traveller that he will meet with more thieves in England than anywhere else; but he adds this encouraging postscript: "Having taken purses by the Highway, they seldom or never kill those they rob. All private men pursue them from village to village with hue and cry."It is the future which Olivier cannot observe with laughter, from her 1941 vantage. She worries about universal education meaning that village children no longer learn a trade, or follow in their parents' farming footsteps; she is concerned about the buildings which are insensitive to their surroundings; she fears that village will become homogeneous, losing their customs and heritage. Who's to say that she was wrong?
And no one with a first-hand knowledge of the two could possibly prefer a screen decked with film-stars to a sty full of little pigs.