I love books, always have.
Life without books? Imagine that.
Proper books, that is, with paper pages, enticing covers, spines that crack as you reach the halfway point. Kindle? No competition.
Unsurpringly, I find it nigh on impossible to walk past a book shop, book box or book pile and there isn't a week goes by when yet another volume is added to the stash. Consequently, there are stacks in just about every room in the house (not the bathrooms because, well, water and yes, I've learned the hard way).
When we moved into this (then newly built) house almost thirty years ago, my collection had to undergo some radical pruning. Our previous homes had been older properties with fireplaces and alcoves just crying out for floor to ceiling shelves and so the book stash just grew and grew. A bookseller in the market town up the road had agreed to buy many of those I'd reluctantly relegated to the 'Go' boxes. The mister handed them over. I sat in the car and cried.
Now, I rely on freestanding bookcases which limit the numbers so I've had to develop a habit of passing on books I've read and am unlikely to want to revisit. (Theoretically, the same applies to those I've not read and in all likelihood never will.)
Storage was recently supplemented with the purchase of a book trolley. Well, a trolley; it's not marketed specifically for books.
And, courtesy of a birthday gift from the Boy, it's now a case of going into full-on librarian mode here. Shush!
My book collection is, erm, eclectic, largely fiction with the current genre of choice being crime. Scandi noir, preferably. Actually, the more noir the better. But, as I say, I happily dip into other types of books, though that dipping rarely includes science fiction and never poetry.
There are no valuable first editions (as far as I'm aware) or rarities on the shelves but the books I've hung onto include some from when I was a tot (Monster Book for Tinies, for instance), some which were such a big part of my childhood (Jane Shaw's Susan series was my absolute favourite), some which are connected to special places and particular times (like 'The Well of Loneliness' and the first of many visits to New York or 'The Collector' and a long ago summer spent on a Greek island), some which have been re-read so many times I could probably recite whole passages (Rebecca and Chocolat and The Otherwise Girl to name but three).
According to Typepad, the current book at bedtime is my 54th this year. Not bad going, I suppose, though I probably couldn't now tell you what many of them were about.
Most books are purchased through the big online sellers, the local Waterstones, charity shops, the supermarket and those meet the author events which the town's library service are so good at organising (it's by attending the latter that I've built up a modest collection of signed copies)
Recently, I stumbled across Books That Matter, a feminist book subscription box. Each month, a themed (and beautifully wrapped) box arrives containing one book by a female author, a bookmark and other treats from individual makers. So far, I've received two of the boxes and been impressed with the contents. October's theme is an exploration of the role of witchcraft in women's history and suffrage. i can't wait for the postie's knock.
Of course, I've acquired a copy of Margaret Atwood's sequel to The Handmaid's Tale (a bargain from Tesco) and a copy of the latest in the Harry Hole series is waiting patiently on the TBR top shelf.
Recommendations are always tricky; reading preference is intensely personal, and what appeals to me may well not appeal to others. As my mother used to say, we're all different and that's a good thing.
But I've compiled a short list of some of the standout books from those I've guzzled recently so, without further ado, and in no particular order, here they are:
The Lost Man. I really rate Jane Harper as a writer and I've enjoyed all three of her novels but I think this is her best yet. There's such a strong sense of place (the hostile environment that is the Australian outback), you almost feel the heat coming off the pages. This is the story of a family, isolation, secrets and an unexplained death. Go find a copy.
The Wolf Border. Rachel knows about wolves. She's spent the last 10 years living alongside them on an Idaho reservation but is tempted back to her native Cumbria to oversee a project which aims to reintroduce the animals to the UK countryside. This is a story of re-wilding but it's more about family, relationships, decisions.
The Taking of Annie Thorne. If you're a fan of Stephen Kng you'll probably enjoy this one. Or maybe you won't (some readers have dismissed it as something of a rip-off). It's more (gentle) horror than thriller and a story with two timelines. One night, little Annie Thorne went missing. Two days later, she returned. But there was something very wrong. Many years afterwards, is her brother about to find out what happened?
The Disappeared. I'm not a huge fan of dystopian fiction (not counting The Handmaid's Tale, of course) but I raced through this one. The author, Amy Lord, is a local blogger and I met her at one of the library events mentioned earlier in this post. This is her first novel but it is well written and doesn't come across as such. It's a scarily plausible vision of a near future UK where the Authorisation Bureau is in charge and life is far from sweet. This is a place where free thinking is dangerous, where critics of the regime 'disappear', where books, unless on the approved list, are banned. A thought provoking read.
Bitter Orange. Frances is on her death bed, remembering a time in her life which was so different from what had gone before. Most of the action takes place in the summer of 1969 when, following the death of her overbearing mother, Frances moves into a dilapidated country house to catalogue the garden's architecture for the absent owner. Peter, tasked with doing a similar job inside the house, and Cara, presumably his wife, are already in residence. To the socially awkward Frances, they seem a glamorous couple and, to her surprise, they want to spend time with her. And so she begins to be drawn into their relationship. Yet all is not as it seems, the stories told don't quite add up and there is something very unsettling just below the surface. This is a stunning book and I couldn't put it down.
Northern Lights. Rather late to the party with this one, I know, but I'd dismissed it as not for me. That is until I saw a trailer for the upcoming TV series. A few pages in and I was all, 'yup, it's definitely not for me' and on the verge of tossing it. But then the pace and the language shifted. I was hooked. This is a wonderful fantasy novel. I mean, talking polar bears? Enough said.
Oh, yes, I love books, me.