Maybe nubile teeny girl fans with Goth eye makeup, and stick marks tattooed on their necks like the Frankenstein creature, and dotted lines around their wrists with CUT HERE instructions, will visit his grave and leave him tributes composed of withered roses and whitened chicken bones. They send stuff like that to him already, and he’s not even dead.
My most favourite passage in the collection.
I was looking for an easy, entertaining read, and this was just that. Moriarty’s writing reminds me a bit of Gillian Flynn or at least the type of storytelling does – female protagonists with a dark past. I enjoyed it and look forward to the miniseries coming next month.
The Boy Series has always been a guilty pleasure of mine and so when I heard a fourth one was on its way, I was excited. It didn’t disappoint. It’ll never be as good as Boy Meets Girl (best in the series) but it’s still fun. You’ll read it in a day.
I follow Carrie Hope Fletcher’s vlogs on YouTube and so I’m a fan already but, for some reason, I just couldn’t get into this one. I’ve given up for now but may return to it at a later date….
A black man nearby had hoisted his son onto his shoulders, and the son was laughing, his mouth full of milky teeth, one missing from the upper row. The father was looking up, and Ifemelu knew that he was stunned by his own faith, stunned to find himself believing in things he did not think he ever would. When the crowd exploded in applause, clapping and whistling, the man could not clap, because he was holding his son’s legs, and so he just smiled and smiled, his face suddenly young with joyfulness. Ifemelu watched him, and the other people around them, all glowing with strange phosphorescence, all treading a single line of unbroken emotion. They believed. They truly believed.
Do you ever want to physically hug a book when you finish it? I absolutely adored this from beginning to end. It made me change the way I look at the world.
This was fun, and an easy read. My favourite quote, although quite long, was and is…
…not everything had to come out in the wash. That sometimes stains and imperfections were a good thing. That was why she surrounded herself with vintage things, old things, old memories. Because sometimes that stubborn old stain was proof you’d lived, proof that you’d been somewhere, done something. That you’d made certain choices. That you were present. That missing button on a blouse after a night of pure passion with a lover. That wine stain from a friend’s dinner party. The ink mark at the bottom of your handbag after you’d written your mother’s birthday card.
A strange family indeed; such unlikely sisters.
Hadley, Fife, Martha and Mary. Four women with one man in common: Mr. Hemingway. Wood brings the characters to life in this “faction” of the famous author and his numerous wives. You’ll fall for each wife, as Ernest did, and cry with them when he breaks their heart. It’s an enticing read. Perfect summer reading.
To hell with my soul; he is my soul! I love him, why can’t you see that? I need him and he needs me. We are the same guy.
My God, she thinks, he’s done it, he has broken my heart.